ayson, with a
welcoming tone in his voice. "Come in, but I warn you that you cannot
interview me any further I'm not worth it; I've told you all I know."

Harley said nothing, but stepped into the room, closing the door behind
him. He saw that they yet knew nothing--there had been no messenger, no
telephone call, and the news was his to tell. He bowed to Mrs. Grayson,
and then he felt a moment of embarrassment, but his long experience and
natural poise came quickly to his aid.

"I do want to interview you, Mr. Grayson," he said, quietly; "and it is
upon a subject to which we did not allude in our former talk."

Mr. Grayson glanced at his wife, and her look, replying to his,
indicated the same puzzling state. Both knew that the chief
correspondent of one of the greatest journals in the world would not
leave a Presidential convention in the hour of birth to secure an
irrelevant interview.

"If I can serve you, Mr. Harley, I shall be glad to do so," said Jimmy
Grayson, somewhat dryly; "but I really do not see how I can."

"I am quite sure that you can," said Harley, with emphasis.

He listened a moment, but he did not hear any step in the hall nor the
jingling of any telephone bell. Both Mr. and Mrs. Grayson waited
expectantly, curious to see what he had in mind.

"If you were to be nominated for the Presidency, I should like to tell
the _Gazette_ what your programme would be--that is, what sort of a
campaign you would conduct," said Harley, deliberately.

Mr. Grayson laughed and glanced again at his wife.

"It is a wise rule for a man in public life never to answer
hypothetical questions; of that I am sure, Mr. Harley," he said.

"I am sure of it, too," said Harley.

Jimmy Grayson bit his lip. It seemed to him that the correspondent would
make a jest, and the hour was unfitting.

"I shall answer your question when I am nominated," he said.

"Then you will answer it now," said Harley.

A sudden flush passed over Mr. Grayson's face and left it white. Mrs.
Grayson trembled and glanced again at her husband, still in a puzzled
state.

"Your meaning is not clear, Mr. Harley," he said.

"It should be. When I left the convention-hall, two minutes ago, they
had just made the nomination unanimous. I wished to be the first to tell
the news, and I have had my wish."

The eyes of the nominee looked straight into those of Harley, but the
correspondent did not flinch. It was obvious that he was telling the
truth.