"Miss Sylvia Garrison. Colonel Ramsay," continued Rose earnestly, resting an elbow lightly on her typewriter, "you and I are old pals--you remember that first winter I was over at the State House?" "Very well, Rose." "Well, it wasn't a good place for me to be. But I was a kid and hadn't much sense. I've learned a good deal since then. It ain't so easy to walk straight; so many people are careless about leaving banana peelings lying round." The Colonel nodded. "You needn't apologize to me, Rose. It's all right now, is it?" "You can be dead sure of it, Colonel. Miss Garrison caught me by the heel of my shoe, just as I was going down the third time, and yanked me back. There's a good many cheap imitations of human beings loose around this world, but that's a woman, I can tell you!" "Glad you struck a good friend, Rose. You did well to come along with Harwood." "Well, she fixed that, too, after I cut loose from _him_--you understand? I guess Miss Garrison and Mr. Harwood are pretty good friends." "Oh!" ejaculated Ramsay. "So there's that, is there?" "I hope so; they're all white and speak the same language. This is on the dead. I'm only talking to you because you're an old friend." An occasional roar from within testified to Mr. Pettit's continued enjoyment of his own jokes. "You know," Rose continued, "I learned a good deal those winters I spent at the State House, when I was stenog to certain senate committees. I see where you stand now, all right, Colonel. I always knew you didn't belong in that bunch of lobbyists that was always gum-shoeing through the marble halls of the State House. Thatcher sends somebody around to look me up every little while to see if he can't coax something out of me,--something he can use, you know." "Thatcher oughtn't to do that. If you want me to, I'll pull him off." "No; I guess I can take care of myself. He"--Rose indicated the inner office with a slight movement of the head, "he never tries to pump me. He ain't that kind of a fighter. But everybody that's anywhere near the inside knows that Thatcher carries a sharp knife. He's going to shed some pink ink before he gets through. Are you on?" They exchanged a glance. "Something that isn't nice?" Rose nodded. "I hate to see that sort of thing brought into the game. But they'll never find anything. The gentleman we are referring to works on noiseless rollers." Colonel Ramsay indicated the closed door by an almost imperceptible gesture of interrogation; and Rose replied by compressing her lips and shaking her head. "He isn't in on that; he's a gentleman, you know; not a mud-slinger." "He might have to stand for anything Thatcher springs. Thatcher has developed into a shrewd and hard fighter. The other crowd don't laugh at him any more; it was his work that got our legislative ticket through last fall when Bassett passed the word that we should take a licking just to magnify his importance. Is Thatcher in town now?"