“Obstinate?” ejaculated Euphrasia. “Yes,” said Tom, with a twinkle in his eye, “obstinate. He doesn't seem to want something that most men would give their souls for.” “And why should he dirty himself with politics?” she demanded. “In the years I've lived with Hilary Vane I've seen enough of politicians, goodness knows. I never want to see another.” “If Austen was governor, we'd change some of that. But mind, Euphrasia, this is a secret,” said Tom, raising a warning finger. “If Austen hears about it now, the jig's up.” Euphrasia considered and thawed a little. “They don't often have governors that young, do they?” she asked. “No,” said Tom, forcibly, “they don't. And so far as I know, they haven't had such a governor for years as Austen would make. But he won't push himself. You know, Euphrasia, I have always believed that he will be President some day.” Euphrasia received this somewhat startling prediction complacently. She had no doubt of its accuracy, but the enunciation of it raised young Tom in her estimation, and incidentally brought her nearer her topic. “Austen ain't himself lately,” she remarked. “I knew that he didn't get along with Hilary,” said Tom, sympathetically, beginning to realize now that Euphrasia had come to talk about her idol. “It's Hilary doesn't get along with him,” she retorted indignantly. “He's responsible--not Austen. Of all the narrow, pig-headed, selfish men the Lord ever created, Hilary Vane's the worst. It's Hilary drove him out of his mother's house to live with strangers. It's Austen that comes around to inquire for his father--Hilary never has a word to say about Austen.” A trace of colour actually rose under Euphrasia's sallow skin, and she cast her eyes downward. “You've known him a good while, haven't you, Tom?” “All my life,” said Tom, mystified again, “all my life. And I, think more of him than of anybody else in the world.” “I calculated as much,” she said; “that's why I came.” She hesitated. Artful Euphrasia! We will let the ingenuous Mr. Gaylord be the first to mention this delicate matter, if possible. “Goodness knows, it ain't Hilary I came to talk about. I had a notion that you'd know if anything else was troubling Austen.” “Why,” said Tom, “there can't be any business troubles outside of those Hilary's mixed up in. Austen doesn't spend any money to speak of, except what he gives away, and he's practically chief counsel for our company.” Euphrasia was silent a moment. “I suppose there's nothing else that could bother him,” she remarked. She had never held Tom Gaylord's powers of comprehension in high estimation, and the estimate had not risen during this visit. But she had undervalued him; even Tom could rise to an inspiration--when the sources of all other inspirations were eliminated. “Why,” he exclaimed, with a masculine lack of delicacy, “he may be in love--” “That's struck you, has it?” said Euphrasia.