He had fought. He had won. He would continue to win. For him the joy of fighting lay more in the battle itself than in the victory. But in the pause between two conflicts it was good to stretch one’s self out in a great, comfortable chair, to smoke, to blink drowsily into the red coals. The one thing remaining to complete his sense of utter well-being was the presence of some congenial soul wherewith to talk over his achievement. And—— Anice Lanier’s knock sounded at the door. Caleb’s placid expression deepened into a smile of real pleasure. “Come in!” he called. “I was just hoping you’d——” He checked himself. Across the threshold stepped Anice. She wore a hat and was dressed for the street. Over her shoulder Caleb caught sight of Clive Standish. “Here’s all sorts of unexpected honors!” exclaimed the Railroader. “I heard you’d bolted, Standish, but I never thought you’d bolt so far as this poor shanty of mine. Come in and sit down. We’ll make a real merry family party, us three.” There was something peculiarly happy in this advent of the defeated man to swell the victor’s triumph. Caleb vaguely felt this. He was glad Anice should see Clive and himself together; should be able to observe his own reserved strength as opposed to the bombastic denunciation Standish had doubtless come to deliver. It would amuse her to note the contrast between the two; to see her employer’s superiority in self-control and repartee. So, as Standish followed the girl into the room, the host actually beamed on his intended victim. Then he noticed that neither Anice nor her escort sat down. Also that the latter remained near the door, while Miss Lanier advanced toward the desk chair Caleb had drawn so snugly into the hearth-angle. But she ignored a second and even softer chair he had arranged on the opposite side of the fire. And all this dimly troubled Caleb Conover. “Anything the matter?” he asked, with somewhat less assurance. “Come to propose a compromise, Standish? Or maybe a campaign partnership? Good idea, that! Only I’m afraid it wouldn’t work this time. In business partnership, you know, one man puts up the money and the other the experience. And by the end of sixty days they’ve usually swapped. But in politics one man always has both the experience and the money. Or the means of getting ’em. Otherwise he wouldn’t be there at all. So I’m afraid I’ll have to refuse.” He ended with a laugh that did not carry conviction, even to himself. No one replied. Neither of his guests’ faces showed sign of having heard. Conover’s good temper wavered. “What’s up?” he demanded of Clive. “Speak out, can’t you?” But it was Anice Lanier who replied. “Mr. Conover,” she said, “you recollect the unsigned letter, enclosing some of your campaign plans, that was sent back to you by Mr. Standish last week?” Caleb’s red hair bristled. “Yes,” he answered, deep in his throat. “Have you found out who sent it?”