s within easy reach, and, pending the coming of
the cocktail, it lowered steadily. Hard by, also, stood a dish of
radishes, out of season, but succulent. He cleared the dish, and
meditated assault on its fellow at the table adjoining. However, the
brave advance of the lobster, the porterhouse, and the champagne bucket
diverted him, and he tucked a napkin under his flabby chin with a
genial smile. Then the smile shrivelled; waiters, porterhouse,
lobster, champagne, winked out in utter blackness, and Chuck O'Rourke
slid heavily to the floor.

The dead man's associates met the emergency with a sharp move. The
following morning Shelby caught a persistent rumor that the convention,
wanting its slated candidate, proposed to indorse the candidacy of
Bernard Graves; which same thing, after a moving tribute to the fallen
leader, the convention with cheerful promptness did.

The Hon. Seneca Bowers was unnerved. He had had to cope with no such
outrageous problem in the whole of his honorable career, and in a state
of mind bordering panic he packed his grip and posted to New York for a
conference with the Boss, leaving Shelby to temporize as best he might.
Nor was Shelby inactive. The O'Rourke crowd had been placated in small
matters times out of mind, and he went about the present task in the
usual way, directing one of his people to inquire what they wanted.
These hitherto insatiate gentlemen replied that they wanted nothing,
adding pleasantly that they were well content with what they had. The
possibility of a victory in a gerrymandered district, however won, was
without price. Shelby appreciated their point of view and addressed
himself to measures more feasible. If he could not shake their
allegiance to Graves, he might succeed in preventing Graves from taking
up with them, and the agencies for influencing public opinion which he
could control began accordingly to ridicule the idea of a reform
candidate's accepting such an indorsement.

Graves refused to be drawn, and for forty-eight hours held his peace
with the aplomb of a veteran. Then Bowers came back.

"Has he accepted?" The words were out before he could take Shelby's
hand.

"Not yet."

"Thank heaven. Tell me what you've done."

Shelby recapitulated.

"That's right," approved his senior. "There's nothing more to be done
with Chuck O'Rourke's bandits just now. Graves is the man to consider.
Is he still mum?"

"As a cigar sign. How does the Boss