sombreros and leggings and leather belts, but there was no disorder, no
cursing, no shouting nor yelling. This was a phase that had passed.

They listened, too, with an eagerness that few Eastern audiences could
show. This was not to them an entertainment or anything savoring of the
spectacular; it was the next thing to the word of God. There was a
reverence in their manner and bearing that appealed to Harley, and he
read easily in their minds the belief that Jimmy Grayson was the
greatest man in the world, and that he alone could bring to their
country the greatness that they wished as much for the country as for
themselves. Churchill sneered at this tone of the gathering, but Harley
took another view. These men might be ignorant of the world, but he
respected their hero-worship, and thought it a good quality in them.

They heard the candidate tell of mighty corporations, of a vague and
distant place called Wall Street, where fat men, with soft, white
fingers and pouches under their eyes, sat in red-carpeted offices and
pulled little but very strong strings that made farmers on the Western
plains, two thousand miles away, dance like jumping-jacks, just as the
fat men wished, and just when they wished. These fat men were allied
with others in Europe, pouchy-eyed and smooth-fingered like themselves,
and it was their object to own all the money-bags of the world, and
gather all the profits of the world's labor. Harley, watching these
people, saw a spark appear in their eyes many times, but it was always
brightest at the mention of Wall Street. That both speaker and those to
whom his words were spoken were thoroughly sincere, he did not doubt for
a moment.

Grayson ceased, the engine blew the starting signal, the candidate and
the correspondent swung aboard, and off they went. Harley looked back,
and as long as he could see the station the little crowd on the lone
prairie was still watching the disappearing train. There was something
pathetic in the sight of these people following with their eyes until
the last moment the man whom they considered their particular champion.

It was but an ordinary train of day cars, the red plush of the seats now
whitened by the prairie dust, and it was used in common by the
candidate, the flock of correspondents, and a dozen politicians, the
last chiefly committeemen or their friends, one being the governor of
the state through which they were then travelling.

Harley sought sleep as