There was not a little of this in the composition of Harvey Sayler, the interesting boss of the Middle West--more interesting than the ordinary purely commercial boss because he was at heart a bold and reckless gambler, one who had less interest in the stakes than in the game. He was in a sentimental mood about George Helm and Eleanor Clearwater. George Helm, the lean and lank, countrified new orator whom Sayler’s secret lieutenant, the Democratic state boss Hazelrigg, had discovered in the State Senate; Eleanor Clearwater, heiress to the notorious--that is, famous--lumber king and Senator, a lady to her finger tips, fond of playing with “fine ideas” of all kinds, but helplessly dependent upon the culture and the luxury that can be got only by acts which proceed from anything but “fine ideas.” A love affair, an engagement, a marriage between these two appealed to Sayler’s love of the sentimentally romantic. Also, Sayler had a streak of sardonic humor in him. He liked the mischievous pranks of fate--with the persons and property and destiny of others. And it seemed to him that the coming together of these two would be one of fate’s masterpieces at the practical joke. And how old Clearwater, the risen from farm hand, the intoxicated aristocrat, the unending snob, would rage and rave! _Also_--and this was the most important of all, for Sayler never did anything that wasn’t a move in his game-- Also--he wanted George Helm. For purposes that need not here be gone into, Sayler had ordered the Democrats to make a furious assault upon his protégé and ally and master, the plutocracy. Hazelrigg, obeying orders, had selected Helm to lead the attack, because Helm was about the only available man not publicly suspected of crookedness and hypocrisy, was an earnest, sincere and effective speaker, shrewd and sane. After Sayler heard Helm speak, Hazelrigg hunted him up at the University Club. Those clubs to which men of all political faiths can and do belong are most useful for meetings of this sort. Said Hazelrigg: “What do you think of him, Senator?” “Of Helm?” said Sayler. A non-committal smile--and that was all. “A dangerous man, I’d say,” proceeded Hazelrigg. “He looks like a farmer and he’s homely as a horse. But there’s nothing of the jay about that brain of his. And how he does wake up, and wake things up, when he gets that lanky form of his straight on his big feet.” Sayler smiled again. He was a loquacious man, like all men of abounding mentality All lakes that are copiously fed must copiously overflow. But he had the big man’s usual false reputation for taciturnity. He was never anything but silent, or at most terse, with understrappers. That sort of cattle had to be dealt with carefully. “He’s doing what I asked him to do, too damn well,” said Hazelrigg. “I’ll have to choke him off.” Sayler, however, was resolved to give his clients of the plutocracy a thoroughgoing scare. Said he: