“Don’t I! At least I propose to try. See here, Waldemar; two months ago at a private dinner, Morrison made a speech in which he said that men who interfered with the rights of property, like Governor Arthur, were no better than anarchists and ought to be handled accordingly. Therefore, I don’t think that a plan—a safe one, of course—to put ‘Pharisee Phil’ away would greatly disturb our friend’s distorted conscience. You see, the governor has laid impious hands on Morrison’s holy of holies, the dividend. By the way, where is Governor Arthur?” “On the train for this city. He’s to review the parade at the Harrisonia Centennial, and unveil the statute to-morrow night; that is, to-night, to be accurate.” “A good opportunity,” murmured Average Jones. “What! In the sight of a hundred thousand people?” “That might be the very core of the opportunity. And at night.” “If you feel certain, it’s a case for the police, isn’t it?” “Hardly! The gambling gang control the police, wholly. They would destroy the trail at once.” “Then why not warn the governor?” “I don’t know him.” “Suppose I make an appointment to take you to see him in the morning?” This was agreed upon. At ten o’clock Governor Arthur received them at his hotel, greeting Average Jones with flattering warmth. “You’re the amateur detective who scared the Honorable William Linder out of the mayoralty nomination,” said he, shaking hands. “What are you going to do to me?” “Give you some racing news to read, Governor.” The governor took the advertisement proof and read it carefully. Characteristically, he then re-read it throughout. “You think this is meant for me?” he asked, handing it back. “I do. You’re not exactly what one would call popular with the racing crowd, you know, Governor.” “Mr. Morrison, in the politest manner in the world, has allowed me to surmise as much,” said the other, smiling broadly. “A very polished person, Mr. Morrison. He can make threats of extinction—political, of course—more delicately than any other subtle blackmailer I have ever met. And I have met several in my time.” “If this were merely political extinction, which I fancy you can take care of yourself, I shouldn’t be taking up your time, sir.” “My dear Jones—” a friendly hand fell on the visitor’s shoulder—“I gravely fear that you lack the judicial mind. It’s a great thing to lack—at times.” Governor Arthur’s eyes twinkled again, and his visitor wondered whence had come his reputation as a dry, unhumorous man. “As to assassination,” he pursued, “I’m a sort of Christian Scientist. The best protection is a profound conviction that you’re safe. That reacts on the mind of any would-be assassin. To my mind, my best chance of safety lies in never thinking of danger.” “Then,” said Waldemar, “any attempt to persuade you against appearing at Harrisonia to-night would be time wasted.” “Absolutely, my dear Waldemar. But don’t think that I’m not appreciative of your thoughtfulness and that of Mr. Jones.”