He was too late for dinner at his dingy boarding house, having wandered far, and he found himself in his room without knowing very well how he had come there, indeed, scarcely more than half-conscious that he _was_ there. He sat, for a long time, in the dark. After a while he mechanically lit the lamp, sat again to stare at it, then, finding his eyes watering, he turned from it with an incoherent whimper, as if it had been a person from whom he would conceal the fact that he was weeping. He leaned his arm, against the window sill and dried his eyes on the shiny sleeve. An hour later, there came a hard, imperative knock on the door. Uncle Billy raised his head and said gently: “Come in.” He rose to his feet uncertain, aghast, when he saw who his visitor was. It was Hurlbut. The young man confronted him darkly, for a moment, in silence. He was dripping with rain; his hat, unremoved, shaded lank black locks over a white face; his nostrils were wide with wrath; the “dry cigar” wagged between gritting teeth. “Will ye take a chair?” faltered Uncle Billy. The room rang to the loud answer of the other: “I'd see you in Hell before I'd sit in a chair of yours!” He raised an arm, straight as a rod, to point at the old man. “Rollinson,” he said, “I've come here to tell you what I think of you! I've never done that in my life before, because I never thought any man worth it. I do it because I need the luxury of it--because I'm sick of myself not to have had gumption enough to see what you were all the time and have you watched!” Uncle Billy was stung to a moment's life. “Look here,” he quavered, “you hadn't ought to talk that way to me. There ain't a cent of money passed my fingers--” Hurlbut's bitter laugh cut him short. “_No?_ Don't you suppose _I know_ how it was done? Do you suppose there's a man in the whole Assembly doesn't know how you were sold? I had it by the long distance an hour ago, from your own home. Do you suppose _we_ have no friends there, or that it was hard to find out about the whole dirty business? Your son's not going to stand trial for bigamy; that was the price you charged for killing the bill. You and Pixley are the only men whom they could buy with all their millions! Oh, I know a dozen men who could be bought on other issues, but not on _this_! You and Pixley stand alone. Well, you've broken the caucus and you've betrayed the Democratic party. I've come to tell you that the party doesn't want you any more. You are out of it, do you hear? We don't want even to use you!” The old man had sunk back into his chair, stricken white, his hands fluttering helplessly. “I didn't go to hurt your feelings, Mr. Hurlbut,” he said. “I never knowed how it would be, but I don't think you ought to say I done anything dishonest. I just felt kind of friendly to the railroads--”