l, and so are Utah and Wyoming and Idaho; can we go through them
with a man like Heathcote, presumably in charge of our party?"

Proof that Harley's fears were justified was forthcoming at once. The
crowd at the station, drawn by various causes, had been usually large,
and Mr. Heathcote was received with a gasp of amazement. But nothing was
said until the white spats of the committeeman disappeared in the hotel.
Then the people crowded around the correspondents, with whom a six
hours' stop was sufficient to make them familiar. "Who is he?" they
asked. "Is he a plutocrat?" "It's a Wall Street shark, sure." "Does
Jimmy Grayson mean to hobnob with a man like that?" "Then we can't trust
him either. He's going to be a monopolist, too, and his claiming to be
champion of the people is all a bluff."

Harley explained with care that Mr. Heathcote was important. To run a
great presidential campaign required much money--special trains must be
paid for, halls had to be hired for speakers, there was a vast amount of
printing to be done, and many other expenses that must be met. Their
party was poor, as everybody knew, most of the wealth being on the other
side; and, when a man like Heathcote was willing to contribute his
thousands, there was nothing to do but to take him. But they need not be
alarmed; he could not corrupt Jimmy Grayson; the candidate was too
stanch, too true, too much of a real man to be turned from the right
path by any sinister Eastern influence.

But the people were not mollified; they resented Mr. Heathcote's manner
as well as his dress. Why had he not stopped at the station a few
minutes, and shaken hands with those who would have been glad to meet
him for the sake of fellowship in the party? Harley heard again the word
"Plutocrat," and, deeming it wise to say nothing more for the present,
walked back to the hotel. On the long porch sat a row of men in
rocking-chairs--correspondents, town officials, and politicians,
following in the wake of Jimmy Grayson. A state senator, a big,
white-bearded man named Curtis, who had been travelling with them for
three days, jerked his finger over his shoulder, pointing to the
interior of the hotel, and said, mysteriously, to Harley:

"Where did you get it?"

"New York," replied Harley, sadly.

"Can't you lose it?"

"I don't know," replied Harley, hopefully, "but we can try."

Hobart, who was in the next chair, put his right foot across his left
knee and nursed it jud