he story, but
I believe it."

Harley could not keep from smiling.

"Well, it's at least an honest ambition," he said.

"I don't know about that," replied the judge, doubtfully. "Not in
Charlie's case, because as a spellbinder he isn't worth shucks. He can't
speak, and he'll never learn to do it. Besides, he's leaving a thing he
was just made for to chase a rainbow, and it's breaking his old daddy's
heart."

"What is it that he was made for?"

"He's a born telegraph-operator. He's one of the best ever known in the
West. They say that at eighteen he was the swiftest in Colorado. Then he
went down to Denver, and a month ago he gave up a job there that was
paying him a hundred and fifty a month to start this foolishness. They
say he might be a great inventor, too, and here he is trying to speak on
politics when he doesn't know anything about public questions, and he
doesn't know how to talk, either; I don't know whether to be mad about
it or just to feel sorry, because Charlie's father is an old friend of
mine."

Harley shared his feelings. He had seen the round peg in the square hole
so many times with bad results to both the peg and the hole that every
fresh instance grieved him. He was also confirmed in the soundness of
Judge Basset's opinion by his observation of young Moore as the journey
proceeded. The new spellbinder was anxious to speak whenever there was
an occasion, and often when there was none at all. The discouragement
and even the open rebukes of his elders could not suppress him. The
correspondents, comparing notes, decided that they had never before seen
so strong a rage for speaking. He took the whole field of public affairs
for his range. He was willing at any time to discuss the tariff,
internal revenue, finance, and foreign relations, and avowed himself
master of all. Yet Harley saw that he was in these affairs a perfect
child, shallow and superficial, and depending wholly upon a few
catchwords that he had learned from others. Even the former Populists
turned from him. But their sour faces when he spoke taught him nothing.
He was still, to himself, the great spellbinder, and he looked forward
to the day when he, too, a nominee for the Presidency, should charm
multitudes with his eloquence and logic. He had no hesitation in
confiding his hopes to Harley, and the correspondent longed to tell him
how he misjudged himself. Yet he refrained, knowing that it was not his
duty; and that even if it were,