"I want to say," Austen continued, "that I have tried to look at things as Mr. Vane sees them, and that I have a good deal of sympathy for his point of view. Conditions as they exist are the result of an evolution for which no one man is responsible. That does not alter the fact that the conditions are wrong. But the railroads, before they consolidated, found the political boss in power, and had to pay him for favours. The citizen was the culprit to start with, just as he is the culprit now, because he does not take sufficient interest in his government to make it honest. We mustn't blame the railroads too severely, when they grew strong enough, for substituting their own political army to avoid being blackmailed. Long immunity has reenforced them in the belief that they have but one duty to pay dividends. I am afraid," he added, "that they will have to be enlightened somewhat as Pharaoh was enlightened." "Well, that's sense, too," said Mr. Widgeon; "I guess you're the man to enlighten 'em." "Moderate talk appeals to me," declared Mr. Jarley. "And when that fails," said Mr. Terry, 'hard, tellin' blows." "Don't lose track of the fact that we've got our eye on you," said Mr. Emerson of Oxford, who had a blacksmith's grip, and came back to renew it after he had put on his overshoes. He was the last to linger, and when the door had closed on him Austen turned to Mr. Redbrook. "Now what does all this mean?" he demanded. "It means," said Mr. Redbrook, "that when the time comes, we want you to run for governor." Austen went to the mantelpiece, and stood for a long time with his back turned, staring at a crayon portrait of Colonel Peasley, in the uniform in which he had fallen at the battle of Gettysburg. Then he swung about and seized the member from Mercer by both broad shoulders. "James Redbrook," he said, "until to-night I thought you were about as long-headed and sensible a man as there was in the State." "So I be," replied Mr. Redbrook, with a grin. "You ask young Tom Gaylord." "So Tom put you up to this nonsense." "It ain't nonsense," retorted Mr. Redbrook, stoutly, "and Tom didn't put me up to it. It's the' best notion that ever came into my mind." Austen, still clinging to Mr. Redbrook's shoulders, shook his head slowly. "James," he said, "there are plenty of men who are better equipped than I for the place, and in a better situation to undertake it. I--I'm much obliged to you. But I'll help. I've got to go," he added; "the Honourable Hilary wants to see me." He went into the entry and put on his overshoes and his coat, while James Redbrook regarded him with a curious mingling of pain and benevolence on his rugged face. "I won't press you now, Austen," he said, "but think on it. For God's sake, think on it."