conversation, as the campaign was now hot and fast. Mr. Heathcote
was, in fact, a man alone in the world, and outlawed too. The weight
upon him grew heavier and heavier as his path became thornier and
thornier; the angles, the corners, and the pitfalls seemed to multiply,
and always he was the victim. Jimmy Grayson looked now and then as if he
would like to interfere, but there was no way for him to interfere, nor
any one with whom he could interfere.

Mr. Heathcote still clung bravely to some portions of his glorious
wardrobe. The white spats he yet sported, in the face of a belligerent
Western democracy, and he paid the full price. Harley acknowledged this
merit in him, and once or twice, when the committeeman, amid the
comments of the ribald crowd, turned a pathetic look upon him, he was
moved to pity and a desire to help; but the last feeling he resolutely
crushed, and held on his way.

The campaign swung farther westward and northward, and into a primitive
wilderness, where the audiences were composed solely of miners and
cowboys. Old Senator Curtis and several other of the Colorado men were
still with them, and one night they spoke at a mining hamlet on the
slope of a mountain that shot ten thousand feet above them. The
candidate was in great form, and made one of his best speeches, amid
roars of applause. The audience was so well pleased that it would not
disperse when he finished, and wished vociferously to know if there were
not another spellbinder on the stage. Then the spirit of mischief
entered the soul of Hobart.

The Honorable Herbert sat at the corner of the stage, the white spats
still gleaming defiance, his whole appearance, despite recent
modifications, showing that he was a strange bird in a strange land.
Hobart constituted himself chairman for the moment, and, pointing to Mr.
Heathcote, said:

"Gentlemen, one of the ablest and most famous of our national
committeemen is upon the stage, and he will be glad to address you."

The audience cheered, half in expectation and half in derision, but the
Honorable Herbert, who had never made a speech in his life, rose to the
cry. His figure straightened up, there was a new light in his eye, and
Harley, startled, did not know Mr. Heathcote. As he advanced to the edge
of the stage the shouts of derision overcame those of expectation.
Harley heard the words "Dude!" "Tenderfoot!" mingled with the cries, but
the Honorable Herbert gave no sign that he heard. He