--but that is not the
point. The important thing is that he is having his dream! For by the
Eternal, Jim Nesbit, I'd rather feel that my boy was even a small part
of the life force of his planet pushing forward--I'd rather be the
father of that boy--I'd rather be old Amos Adams the spook chaser--than
Dan Sands with his million. I've been happier, Jim, with the memory of
my Mary than he with his five wives. I'd rather be on the point of the
drill of life and mangled there, than to have my soul rot in greed."

The Doctor puffed on his pipe. "Well, Amos," he returned quietly, "I
suppose if a man wants to get all messed up as one of the points of the
drill of life, as you call it--it's easy enough to find a place for the
sacrifice. I admire Grant; but someway," his falsetto broke out, "I have
thought there was a little something in the bread-and-butter
proposition."

"A little, Doctor Jim--but not as much as you'd think!" answered Amos.

"Nevertheless in this fight here in Greeley County, I'm quietly lining
up a few county delegates, and picking out a few trusty friends who will
show up at the caucuses, and Grant has a handful of crazy Ikes that I am
going to use in my business, and if we win it will be a practical
proposition--my head against Tom's."

The Doctor rose. Amos Adams stopped him with "Don't be too sure of that,
Jim; I got a writing from Mr. Left last night and he says--"

"Hold on, Amos--hold on," squeaked the Doctor's falsetto; "until Mr.
Left is registered in the Third Ward--we won't bother with him until
after the convention."

The Doctor left the place smiling at Amos and glancing casually at young
Mr. Perry. The dissertation had been a hard strain on the practical mind
of young Mr. Perry, and while he was fumbling his way through the mazes
of what he had heard, Amos Adams left the shop and another practical man
very much after Nathan Perry's own heart came in. Daniel Sands had no
cosmic problems on his mind with which to befuddle young Perry. Daniel
Sands was a seedy little old man of nearly three score years and ten;
his dull, fishy eyes framed in red lids looked shiftily at one as though
he was forever preoccupied in casting up sums in interest. His skin was
splotched and dirty, a kind of scale seemed to be growing over it, and
his long, thin nose stuck out of his shaggy, ill-kept whiskers like a
sharp snout, attenuated by rooting in money. When he smiled, which was
rarely, the false quality of his