Hollister argued--not unskillfully, because he liked Helm. But George was not to be moved. He had not set out from the depth of the valleys for the heights without so obvious a precaution as taking the measure of his weaknesses. He knew that the one bribe he could not resist was the social bribe--that his one chance for success in the career he had mapped out for himself lay in having no friends among those he must fight. And in the nearest rank of them were Hollister, the railway giant of the State, and Judge Powers, his brother-in-law and closest judicial agent. A day or so later, when he, walking up Main Street, saw Clara Hollister and Eleanor Clearwater driving toward him in a phaeton, he abruptly turned to inspect a window display. He shivered and jumped ridiculously when he heard Clara’s voice at his elbow. “_You_ interested in _millinery_!” Miss Hollister was saying laughingly. He noted with a wild glance that he had stopped before a show window full of women’s hats. “How d’ye do, Miss Powers,” he stammered. “Hollister,” she corrected. “Judge Powers is my _uncle_.” Helm’s confusion became a rout. “I--I beg--your pardon,” he said, dropping his hat and a law book he was carrying. In picking them up he slipped, and with difficulty saved his long, loose frame from sprawling upon the sidewalk. But as he straightened up, by one of those sudden inward revolutions, he became cool and self-possessed. He burst out laughing at himself--and when he laughed his fine eyes and his really splendid teeth made him handsome--for a homely man. “Please talk to Nell Clearwater while I’m in here,” said Clara, leaving him with a nod and a smile to flit in at the open door of the shop. Helm advanced to the curb where the phaeton was drawn up. One glance at Miss Clearwater’s cold and reserved face was enough to convince him that she was an unwilling party to Clara Hollister’s plot. He said, with a simple, direct frankness: “It isn’t quite fair--is it?--to blame me. I certainly tried to avoid you.” Their glances met. She could not resist the kindly humorous twinkle in his eyes. “I’m glad to see you again,” said she, polite, if not cordial. Her hand hesitated, moved to extend, settled itself again beside the hand holding the reins. “You’re back to stay?” “Yes.” His hand rose toward his hat for the leave-taking. “In politics?” “Yes.” Her look was coldly disdainful. “I can’t wish you success,” she said, with a slight nod of dismissal. “That is not to your credit,” replied he, with quiet dignity. She flushed. “You know that you yourself are ashamed of what you are doing,” said she. “Why do you say that?” “You were ashamed to come to Mr. Hollister’s house.” “I had two reasons for not going there,” said Helm. “Neither of them was shame--or anything like it. Mr. Hollister may be ashamed. He certainly is afraid. But I am not. They wished to bribe me to silence by flattering me with their friendship. I refused to be bribed. That was one of my reasons.”