o overawe the
candidate. Yet there was a certain mild persistence in his tone which
told them that they should humor him a little, as one would a spoiled or
hurt child. They, as men of the world, knew that it was not well to bear
too hard on the bit.

They conferred a little, leaving Jimmy Grayson alone in his chair, where
he remained silent and with inexpressive face. Harley still stood by the
window. He had never spoken, but nothing escaped his attention. More
than once he was hot with anger, but none of the committeemen ever
looked at him.

"If you insist, and as you say you will, we yield this little point,"
said Mr. Goodnight, "but we only do so because Waterville is such a
small place. Even then we are not sure that it is not an indiscretion,
to call it by a mild name, and if anything should come of it you would
have to bear the full responsibility, Mr. Grayson."

"That is true," said Jimmy Grayson, cheerfully, "but as you have said,
Waterville is a small, a very small place; one could hardly find a
smaller on the map."

"In that event it will doubtless do no harm," said Mr. Goodnight,
relaxing a little, and Mr. Crayon, stroking his smoothly shaven chin,
said after him: "No harm; no harm, perhaps, in so small a place!"

Harley had never moved from the window, and again he studied Jimmy
Grayson's face with the keenest attention. Harley was a fine judge of
character, but he could read nothing there, save gravity. As for
himself, he felt often those hot thrills of anger at the words of these
men; would nothing stir them from their complacency? He had, too, a
sense of pain at Jimmy Grayson's lack of resentment. It was true that
their support was a necessity, but after all they were a minority within
the party, and one might remind them of the fact. Yet Jimmy Grayson
probably knew best; he understood politics, and perhaps his course was
the wiser. But Harley sighed.

After the victory, although it had not been a difficult one to win, the
members of the committee were disposed to condescend a little. They sent
to their private car for champagne and other luxuries which the
candidate and Harley touched but lightly, and they treated even Harley,
the newspaper-man, with graciousness.

Mr. Crayon felt the flame of humor sparkling in his veins, and he jested
lightly on the little speech at Waterville. "Just think of our candidate
wasting sweetness on desert air," he said, "for Waterville is in desert,
and, as I am r