r, asked if he were not the nominee, adding that it was a pride to
them to meet him and speak to him. In fact, the change from silence to
conversation was a relief to Mr. Grayson, varying the monotony of that
fixed gaze to which he had been subjected so long, and it was now that
Harley saw him in a most favorable guise. His consciousness of a great
talent did not interfere with a perfect democracy; it did not cause him
to assume an air that said to these people, "I am better than you, keep
your distance," but he gave the impression of ability solely through his
simplicity of manner and the ease with which he adapted himself to the
caliber of the person who spoke to him.

Thus the train swung westward hour after hour, and the procession
through the car never ceased. The manner of the candidate did not
change; however weary he may have grown, he was always affable, but not
gushing, and Harley, watching keenly, judged that the impression he made
was always favorable. He strove, too, to interpret this manner and to
read the mind behind it. Was Mr. Grayson really great or merely a man of
ready speech and pleasing address? Harley was willing to admit that the
latter were qualities in themselves not far from great, but on the main
contention he reserved his judgment. He was still divided in his
opinions, sometimes approving the complete democracy of the candidate
and sometimes condemning. He had been born in the South, in a border
state, and he grew up there amid many of the forms and formalities of
the old school, and the associations of youth are not easily lost. Nor
had a subsequent residence in the East brushed them away. This world of
the West was still, in many respects, new to him.

He ate luncheon in the dining-car with the Graysons, and he noticed the
bubbling joy of the black waiter who served them, and who showed two
rows of white teeth in a perpetual smile. Harley appreciated him so much
that he doubled his tip, but, as they were still watched by many eyes in
the dining-car, he felt a certain nervousness in handling his knife and
fork, as if the penalty of greatness, even by association, were too
heavy for him. Once his eyes caught those of Mrs. Grayson, and a faint,
whimsical smile passed over her face, a smile so infectious, despite its
faintness, that Harley was compelled to reply in like fashion. It told
him that she understood his constraint, and that she, too, felt it, but
Harley doubted whether it was in lik