t back at him and wipe him off the face of the
earth. It will be an easy thing for so big a man as you to do. Charlie
doesn't know a thing about public affairs. He'll make lots of
statements, and every one of 'em will be wrong. Just show him up. Make
all the people laugh at him. Just sting him with your words till he
turns red in the face. Roll him in the dust, and tread on him till he
can't breathe. Then hold him up before all that audience as the biggest
and wildest fool that ever came on a stage. Nothing else will cure him;
it will be a favor to him and to me; and I, his father, who loves him
more than anybody else in the world, ask you to do it."

Harley was tempted to smile, and at the same moment water came into his
eyes. No one could fail to be moved by the old man's intense
earnestness, his florid and mixed imagery, and his appealing look.
Certainly Jimmy Grayson was no exception. He glanced at Harley, and saw
his expression of sympathy, but the correspondent made no suggestion.

"I appreciate your feelings and your position, Mr. Moore," he said, "but
this is a hard thing that you ask me to do. I cannot trample upon a boy,
even metaphorically, in the presence of five thousand people. What will
they think of me?"

"They'll understand. They'll know why it's done, and they'll like you
for it. It's the only way, Mr. Grayson. Either you do it or my boy's
life is ruined."

Jimmy Grayson walked up and down the room, and his face was troubled. He
looked again and again at Harley, but the correspondent made no
suggestion; he had none to make. At last he stopped.

"I think I can save your son, and promise to make the trial, but I will
not say a word just yet. Now don't ask me any more about it, and never
mind the thanks. I understand; maybe I shall have a grown son myself,
some day, to be turned from the wrong path. Good-night. I'll see you
again at Pueblo. Harley, I wish you would stay awhile longer. I want to
have further talk with you."

The candidate and Harley were in deep converse for some time, and, when
they finished, much of the trouble had disappeared from Jimmy Grayson's
eyes. "I think it can be done," he said.

"So do I," repeated Harley, with confidence.

The next day, which was occupied with the run down to Pueblo and
occasional stops for speeches at way-stations, was uneventful save for
the growing obsession of Charlie Moore. He was overflowing with pride
and importance. That night, in the presence