“The lecture scheme’s off--isn’t it?” said he. “By no means,” replied Helm. “I’ll let you into my secret, Bill. You’re close-mouthed--closer mouthed than I am.” “I doubt it,” said Desbrough. “Yes, for _I’m_ telling you my secret--and _you’ll_ not tell anybody. Here’s the secret! By those lecture tours I’m going to build up in every part of this State a machine of my own--groups of people I can trust and who feel they can trust me. There’s some skullduggery back of this spasm of party virtue. It won’t last. We must hurry and make all we can out of it.” Most men cannot see the obvious, even when it is pointed out to them. The occasional rare man--the man of genius of one kind or another--is he who sees the obvious without assistance. In between these two classes lies a third class, not small like that of genius--yet not huge like the other. To this third class--those able to see the obvious if and when it is pointed out to them--belonged William Desbrough. He reflected on what George Helm had said; and up went his admiration a considerable number of notches. Said he: “George, what a run you’ll give ’em!” Helm clapped him on the shoulder with his loud, joyous, boyish laugh. “Put all your money on that, Bill!” cried he. Helm’s successes wrought in him the usual swift change. The temperament of success, the ability to throw one’s whole concentrated self into an enterprise, involves a highly organized nervous system--hence, extreme sensitiveness, torments from anxiety and from self-doubt. Only an iron constitution could have borne the fatigues of that first campaign of his--the now famous “buggy” campaign--with its nerve strain of the man fighting again desperate odds to save himself from ruin under avalanches of ridicule. And when he finally “made good” in his home district, the question at once arose, “But can I make good at the capital?” This question was in the way to be answered with an emphatic yes. The respect with which he was treated by other men--men of consequence! The serious attention the papers gave his utterances! The huge piles of letters praising his courage, his logic, his freedom from crude abuse, his clearness of statement--letters from all parts of the State, from all parts of the Union! Those letters made his heart burn with new energy and high hope. He had indeed guessed right. The people--his people--the long-suffering masses were certainly on the alert for a leader. Yes, he was in the way to accomplish something of what he had resolved when he left the farm, because he was intelligent enough to discover that the big monopolies headed by the railway trusts had reduced the nominally independent farmer to the slavery of the poorly paid wage-earner of the cities and towns. He was in the way to be of use in the gigantic task of restoring democracy and opportunity to the republic.