hall, then down a narrow creaking stairway to the basement
dining-room, an apartment as stark and cheerless as the parlor, albeit
the silver on the table was very old and heavy, the linen unsurpassed.

The guests seated themselves as they listed, the youngster almost
clinging to Miss Williams. The doctor hurriedly ladled the soup,
announcing that he had a notion to let them help themselves, he was so
hungry. When he had given them this brief attention he supplied his own
needs with the ladle direct from the tureen.

"Old beast!" muttered Mrs. Holt. "It's disgusting to be so rich that you
can do as you please."

But for this remark, delivered as the ladle fell with a clatter on the
empty soup-plate, the first course was disposed of amidst profound
silence. No one dared to talk except as the master led, and the master
was taking the edge off his appetite.

The soup was removed and a lavish dinner laid on the table. Dr. Webster
sacrificed his rigid economic tenets at the kitchen door, but there was
no rejoicing in the hearts of the guests. They groaned in spirit as they
contemplated the amount they should be forced to consume at one of the
clock.

The doctor carved the turkeys into generous portions, ate his, then
began to talk.

"Cleveland will be re-elected," he announced dictatorially. "Do you
hear? Harrison has no show at all. What say?" His shaggy brows rushed
together. He had detected a faint murmur of dissent. "Did you say he
wouldn't, John Holt?"

"No, no," disclaimed Mr. Holt, who was a scarlet Republican. "Cleveland
will be re-elected beyond a doubt."

"Well, if I hear of any of you voting for Harrison! I suppose you think
I can't find out what ticket you vote! But I'll find out, sirs. Mark my
words, Holt, if you vote the Republican ticket--"

He stopped ominously and brought his teeth together with a vicious
click. Holt raised his wine-glass nervously. The doctor held his note to
a considerable amount.

"The Republican party is dead--dead as a door-nail," broke in an
unctuous voice. A stout man with a shrewd time-serving face leaned
forward. "Don't let it give you a thought, doctor. What do you think of
the prospects for wheat?"

"Never better, never better. They say the Northern crops will fail, but
it's a lie. They can't fail. You needn't worry, Meeker. Don't pull that
long face, sir; I don't like it."

"The reports are not very encouraging," began a man of bile and nerves
and melancholy mien.