“Have a cigar?” suggested Caleb, viewing this operation with manifest disgust. “No, thanks.” “It’s better’n one of those measly connecting links between fire and a fool,” grunted Caleb. Gerald puffed on without answering. “I _said_,” repeated Caleb, a little louder, “the rankest Flor de Garbage campaign cigar, with a red-and-yaller surcingle around its waist, is a blamed sight better’n any Cairo, Illinois, Egyptian cig’rette. Is there five minutes a day when you’re not smoking one?” “No.” “’Tain’t good for any man, smoking so much as that, ’spesh’ly a man with a boy’s size chest like yours. Stunts the growth, too, I hear, and——” “I’ve got my growth.” “You sure have,” agreed Caleb, looking up and down his son’s weedy length, “and you’d ’a’ had still more if so much of you hadn’t been turned up for feet. Well, smoke away and drink away, too, if you like. I’m not responsible for you. Only you’ll smash up or turn queer one of these days if you don’t look out. Is it the booze or the near-tobacco that makes your lips all dry like that? Neither of ’em usually has that effect. Your hands are wet and cold all the time, too. Better see a doctor, hadn’t you?” “Oh, I’m all right,” said the lad wearily. Caleb looked in doubt at his listless companion, seemed inclined to say more on the subject, then changed his mind. “Be ready for the 7.15 to-morrow morning,” he ordered as they mounted the broad marble steps of the Mausoleum. “Turn in early and get a good rest. Lord! I hope this drizzle will turn into rain before morning. Nothing like a rainy election day to drown reform. The honest heeler would turn out in a blizzard to earn his two dollars by voting, but a sprinkle will scare a Silk Socker from the polls easier’n a——” The great door was swung open. Outlined against the lighted hall behind it was Mrs. Conover. She had seen their approach, and had hastened out into the veranda to meet them. “Hello!” exclaimed the Railroader. “This is like old times! Must be twenty years since you came out to——” “Oh, Caleb!” sobbed the little woman, and as the light for the first time fell athwart her face, they saw she was red-eyed and blotched of cheek from much weeping. “Oh, Caleb, how long you’ve been! I telephoned the Democratic Club an hour ago, and they said you’d just——” “What’s the row?” broke in her bewildered husband. “Afraid I’d been ate by your big nephew, or——” “Don’t, don’t joke! Something dreadful’s happened. I——” “Then come into the library and tell us about it quiet,” interrupted Caleb, “unless maybe you’re aiming to call in the servants later for advice.”