th was wormwood in his mouth--that he had been only an errand boy
between greed in the bank and self-interest in the stores. In a flash, a
merciless, cynical flash, he looked into his life in the capital, and
there he saw with sickening distinctness that with all his power as a
boss, with his control over Senators and Governors and courts and
legislatures, he was still the errand boy--that he reigned as boss only
because he could be trusted by those who controlled the great
aggregations of capital in the state--the railroads, the insurance
companies, the brewers, the public service corporations. In the street
below walked a flashy youth who went in and out of the saloons in
obvious pride of being. His complacent smile, his evident glory in
himself, made Dr. Nesbit turn away and shut his eyes in shame. He had
loathed the youth as a person unspeakable. Yet the youth also was a
messenger--the errand boy of vice in South Harvey who doubtless thought
himself a person of great power and consequence. And the difference
between an errand boy of greed and the errand boy of vice was not
sufficient to revive the Doctor's spirits. So the Doctor, sadly sobered,
left the window. The gay enthusiasm of the diver plunging for the pearl
was gone from the depressed little white clad figure. He was finding his
pearl a burden rather than a joy.

That evening Morty Sands, resplendent in purple and fine linen--the
purple being a gorgeous necktie, and the fine linen a most sumptuous
tailor-made shirt waist above a pair of white broadcloth trousers and
silk hose, and under a fifty dollar Panama hat, tripped into the
Brotherton store for his weekly armload of reading and tobacco.

"Morty," said Mr. Brotherton, after the young man had picked out the
latest word in literature and nicotine, "your father was in here to-day
with instructions for me to chaperone you through the county convention
Saturday,--you'll be on the delegation."

The young man blinked good naturedly. "I haven't got the intellect to go
through with it, George."

"Oh, yes, you have, Morty," returned Mr. Brotherton, expansively. "The
Governor wants me to be sure you vote for Van Dorn--that's about all
there is in the convention. Old Linen Pants is to name the delegates to
the State and congressional conventions--they're trying to let the old
man down easy--not to beat him out of his State and congressional
leadership."

The young man thought for a moment then smiled up into t