y, but that mortal sickness
of the mind and heart which kills a man, often years before his body
dies.

"I have come to the conclusion that you were right about Goodrich,
Sayler. I am glad that I took your advice and never trusted him. I think
you and I together will be too strong for him."

"You are going to seek a renomination?" I asked.

He looked at me in genuine astonishment. "It is impossible that the
party should refuse me," he said.

I was silent.

"Be frank with me, Sayler," he exclaimed at last. "Be frank. Be my
friend, your own old self."

"As frank and as friendly as you have been?" said I, rather to remind
myself than to reproach him. For I was afraid of the reviving feeling of
former years--the liking for his personal charms and virtues, the
forbearance toward that weakness which he could no more change than he
could change the color of his eyes. His moral descent had put no clear
markings upon his pose. On the contrary, he had grown in dignity through
the custom of deference. The people passing us looked admiration at him,
had a new sense of the elevation of the presidential office. Often it
takes the trained and searching eye to detect in the majestic facade the
evidences that the palace has degenerated into a rookery for pariahs.

"I have done what I thought for the best," he answered, never more
direct and manly in manner. "I have always been afraid, been on guard,
lest my personal fondness for you should betray me into yielding to you
when I ought not. Perhaps I have erred at times, have leaned backward in
my anxiety to be fair. But I had and have no fear of your not
understanding. Our friendship is too long established, too
well-founded." And I do not doubt that he believed himself; the capacity
for self-deception is rarely short of the demands upon it.

"It's unfortunate--" I began. I was going to say it was unfortunate that
no such anxieties had ever restrained him from yielding to Goodrich. But
I hadn't the heart. Instead, I finished my sentence with: "However, it's
idle to hold a post-mortem on this case. The cause of death is
unimportant. The fact of it is sufficient. No doubt you did the best you
could, Mr. President."

My manner was that of finality. It forbade further discussion. He
abandoned the finesse of negotiation.

"Harvey, I ask you, as a personal favor, to help me through this
crisis," he said. "I ask you, my friend and my dead wife's friend."

No depth too low, no senti