end asked him to come over
to the committee room. "They've decided about it now, I imagine,"
he told his senior, putting on his hat; and something of the wonted
fighting elation came upon him as he went down the stairs. He was right
in his supposition. They had decided about it, and they were waiting,
in a group that made every effort to look casual, to tell him when he
arrived.

They had delegated what Horace Williams called "the job" to Mr
Farquharson, and he was actually struggling with the preliminaries of
it, when Bingham, uncomfortable under the curious quietude of the young
fellow's attention, burst out with the whole thing.

"The fact is, Murchison, you can't poll the vote. There's no man in the
Riding we'd be better pleased to send to the House; but we've got to win
this election, and we can't win it with you."

"You think you can't?" said Lorne.

"You see, old man," Horace Williams put in, "you didn't get rid of that
save-the-Empire-or-die scheme of yours soon enough. People got to think
you meant something by it."

"I shall never get rid of it," Lorne returned simply, and the others
looked at one another.

"The popular idea seems to be," said Mr Farquharson judicially, "that
you would not hesitate to put Canada to some material loss, or at least
to postpone her development in various important directions, for the
sake of the imperial connection."

"Wasn't that," Lorne asked him, "what, six months ago, you were all
prepared to do?"

"Oh, no," said Bingham, with the air of repudiating for everybody
concerned. "Not for a cent. We were willing at one time to work it
for what is was worth, but it never was worth that, and if you'd had a
little more experience, Murchison, you'd have realized it."

"That's right, Lorne," contributed Horace Williams. "Experience--that's
all you want. You've got everything else, and a darned sight more. We'll
get you there, all in good time. But this time--"

"You want me to step down and out," said Lorne.

"That's for you to say," Bingham told him. "We can nominate you again
all right, but we're afraid we can't get you the convention. Young and
Windle have been working like moles for the past ten days--"

"For Carter?" interrupted Lorne: "Carter, of course."

They nodded. Carter stood the admitted fact.

"I'm sorry it's Carter," said Lorne thoughtfully. "However--" And he
dropped, staring before him, into silence. The others eyed him from
serious, underhung faces.