I had several times come to the saloon in the days of my apprenticeship in search of some judge or official, and once I had run down here the city auditor himself. Mike Monahan, whose affair it was to know everyone, recognized me. It was part of his business, also, to understand that I was now a member of the firm of Watling, Fowndes and Ripon. "Good morning to you, Mr. Paret," he said suavely. We held a colloquy in undertones over the bar, eyed by the two or three customers who were present. Mr. Monahan disappeared, but presently returned to whisper: "Sure, he'll see you," to lead the way through the swinging doors and up a dark stairway. I came suddenly on a room in the greatest disorder, its tables and chairs piled high with newspapers and letters, its windows streaked with soot. From an open door on its farther side issued a voice. "Is that you, Mr. Paret? Come in here." It was little less than a command. "Heard of you, Mr. Paret. Glad to know you. Sit down, won't you?" The inner room was almost dark. I made out a bed in the corner, and propped up in the bed a man; but for the moment I was most aware of a pair of eyes that flared up when the man spoke, and died down again when he became silent. They reminded me of those insects which in my childhood days we called "lightning bugs." Mr. Jason gave me a hand like a woman's. I expressed my pleasure at meeting him, and took a chair beside the bed. "I believe you're a partner of Theodore Watling's now aren't you? Smart man, Watling." "He'll make a good senator," I replied, accepting the opening. "You think he'll get elected--do you?" Mr. Jason inquired. I laughed. "Well, there isn't much doubt about that, I imagine." "Don't know--don't know. Seen some dead-sure things go wrong in my time." "What's going to defeat him?" I asked pleasantly. "I don't say anything," Mr. Jason replied. "But I've known funny things to happen--never does to be dead sure." "Oh, well, we're as sure as it's humanly possible to be," I declared. The eyes continued to fascinate me, they had a peculiar, disquieting effect. Now they died down, and it was as if the man's very presence had gone out, as though I had been left alone; and I found it exceedingly difficult, under the circumstances, to continue to address him. Suddenly he flared up again. "Watling send you over here?" he demanded. "No. As a matter of fact, he's out of town. Some of Mr. Watling's friends, Mr. Grunewald and Mr. Dickinson, Mr. Gorse and others, suggested that I see you, Mr. Jason." There came a grunt from the bed. "Mr. Watling has always valued your friendship and support," I said. "What makes him think he ain't going to get it?" "He hasn't a doubt of it," I went on diplomatically. "But we felt--and I felt personally, that we ought to be in touch with you, to work along with you, to keep informed how things are going in the city." "What things?"