Boss Quaid was chuckling contentedly as he entered his limousine with Forsythe, Barney Fogarty, and Jim Neenan. He had expressed his satisfaction and his gratitude to the manipulators by giving the dignitaries the slip, with the exception of Forsythe, and inviting the trio to supper at his favorite roadhouse where neither henchmen nor reporters would search him out. “Now we’re all set,” Barney assured Forsythe as they rolled away. “There were three or four possible bad eggs there tonight, Hammond among ’em. Hammond was the only one that hatched, and we squashed him before he got out of the shell, laughed him to death.” “Barney’s right,” Quaid agreed. But for once Barney was wrong. How amazingly, mysteriously wrong, he learned two and a half hours later, when the party stopped at an all-night news-stand on the way home and bought copies of the _Press_ and the _Sentinel_, the capital city’s two morning papers. MARTIN W. HAMMOND THROWS HAT IN RING This was the flaring headline that smote his eyes from one front page, at the top of the dinner story. HAMMOND FLOUTS FORSYTHE, DECLARES HIMSELF CANDIDATE This blazed at him from the other newspaper. “What!” the boss exploded. “The damned traitor! Sent ’em a statement! Hell’s bells!” “Statement nothing!” Barney ejaculated. “These papers are full of prunes, both of ’em! Why, they say he made this speech as the dinner feature of the occasion, the _Sentinel_ calls it.” For several minutes, under the glare of the dome light in Quaid’s limousine, the four men read, pop-eyed with amazement, the silence broken only by occasional crackling profanity. There was no doubt but that both papers had seemingly gone mad. According to their accounts, Hammond had actually completed a ringing speech of some twenty minutes’ duration at the dinner, and at its conclusion had received tumultuous applause. He had scathingly picked Forsythe’s empty mouthings to pieces, keenly analyzed the State power proposition, declaring it must be put in the hands of experts to determine the right policy as between State and local control. He was personally engaged in such a study now, he declared, and the State could have his services as Governor to direct such a study and carry out its results. There was added a brief account of Hammond’s career as a successful engineer who had served the State for one term as engineer ten years before. Quaid finished reading and dashed the paper to the floor in a purple rage. “_Sentinel_ office, George,” he ordered the chauffeur. The _Sentinel_ was controlled by Quaid. Boon, its managing editor, and handy man to the boss, was just about to go home when the enraged and mystified quartet stormed in. “What the hell?” Quaid demanded, slapping the paper down on the desk and pointing one pudgy finger at the offensive and mystic headline. “Are you fellows crazy or drunk?”