e fighting with every ounce in them to sweep back the wave
of civic indignation the _World_ had gathered into a compact aggressive
organization.

Young Ned Merrill, who represented the interests of the allied
corporations, had Big Tim on the carpet. The young man had not been out
of Harvard more than three years, but he did not let any nonsense about
fair play stand in his way. In spite of the clean-cut look of him--he
was broadshouldered and tall, with an effect of decision in the square
cleft chin that would some day degenerate into fatness--Ned Merrill
played the game of business without any compunctions.

"You're making a bad fight of it, O'Brien. Old style methods won't win
for us. These crank reformers have got the people stirred up. Keep your
ward workers busy, but don't expect them to win." He leaned forward
and brought his fist down heavily on the desk. "We've got to smash
Farnum--discredit him with the bunch of sheep who are following him."

"What more do youse want? We're callin' him ivery black name under
Hiven."

Merrill shook his head decisively. "Not enough. Prove something. Catch
him with the goods."

"If youse'll show me how?"

"I don't care how, You've got detectives, haven't you? Find out all
about him, where he comes from, who his people were. Rake his life with
a fine tooth comb from the day he was born. He's a bad egg. We all know
that. Dig up facts to prove it."

Within the hour detectives were set to work. One of them left next day
for Shelby. Another covered the neighborhoods where Jeff had lived in
Verden. Henceforth wherever he went he was shadowed.

It was about this time that Samuel Miller lost his place in the city
library on account of his political opinions. For more than a year he
and Jeff had roomed together at a private boarding house kept by a Mrs.
Anderson. Within twenty-four hours of his dismissal Miller was on the
road, sent out by the campaign committee of his party to make speeches
throughout the state.

Jeff himself was speaking nearly every night now that the day of
election was drawing near. This, together with the work of editing the
paper and the strain of the battle, told heavily on a vitality never
too much above par. He would come back to his rooms fagged out, often
dejected because some friend had deserted to the enemy.

One cold rainy evening he met Nellie Anderson in the hall. She had been
saying good-bye to some friends who had been in to call on her.

"