smile seemed expressed by his false
teeth that were forever falling out of place when he loosed his facial
muscles. He walked rather stealthily back to the desk where the
proprietor of the shop was working; but he spoke loud enough for Nate
Perry's practical ear to comprehend the elder man's mission.

"George, I've got to be out of town for the next ten days, and the
county convention will meet when I'm gone." He stopped, and cleared his
throat. Mr. Brotherton knew what was coming. "I just called to say that
we're expecting you to do all you can for Tom." He paused. Mr.
Brotherton was about to reply when the old man smiled his false smile
and added:

"Of course, we can't afford to let our good Doctor's family affairs
interfere with business. And George," he concluded, "just tell the boys
to put Morty on in my place. And George, you kind of sit by Morty, and
see that he gets his vote in right. Morty's a good boy, George--but he
someway doesn't get interested in things as I like to see him. He'll be
all right if you'll just fix his ballot in the convention and see that
he votes it." He blinked his dull, red eyes at the book seller and
dropped his voice.

"I noticed your paper as I passed the note counter just now; some of it
will be due while I'm gone; I'll tell 'em to renew it if you want it."
He smiled again, and Mr. Brotherton answered, "Very well--I'll see that
Morty votes right, Mr. Sands," and solemnly went back to his ledger. And
thus the practical mind of Nathan Perry had its first practical lesson
in practical politics--a lesson which soon afterwards produced highly
practical results.

Up and down Market Street tiptoed Daniel Sands that day, tightening his
web of business and politics. Busily he fluttered over the web, his
water pipes, his gas pipes, his electric wires. The pathway to the trade
of the miners and the men in the shops and smelters lay through his
door. Material prosperity for every merchant and every clerk in Market
Street lay in the paunch of the old spider, and he could spin it out or
draw it in as he chose. It was not usual for him to appear on Market
Street. Dr. Nesbit had always been his vicegerent. And often it had
pleased the Doctor to pretend that he was seeking their aid as friends
and getting it solely upon the high grounds of friendship.

But as the Doctor stood by his office window that day and saw the old
spider dancing up and down the web, Dr. Nesbit knew the truth--and the
tru