“Don’t be silly, Burton. You know that they are the architects of presidential nominations.” “But even architects----” “Oh, Burt, don’t quibble. You know that you’re the logical man for the place. You’re squarely based in party policies----” “Safe, and steady.” His tone was whimsical. “But picturesque enough to be a good campaigner.” “Barefoot boy from the mountains. Good American stock with fine traditions. Reads rhetorically, doesn’t it?” “And a border state gives you strategic advantage.” “Some one has coached you well.” “I was coached before I ever knew you, Burt dear. My father taught us politics as religiously as my mother taught us sewing. It wasn’t as practical, perhaps, as yours, but----” “There haven’t been many men more practical in their politics than Peter Armond,” Stroude said dryly. “Even if he did grow wealthy,” his daughter defended, “you know how high he kept his standards.” “I can guess,” Stroude said, but his tone gave her no handle to catch for controversy, and she swung into off-side statement. “Mrs. Covinger let slip something that may be vital to us,” she told him. “If it’s vital, she let it slip with due deliberation,” he declared. “Don’t underestimate her brains, Rhoda, even if she wasn’t raised by the Armond code. What did she say?” “I don’t believe I’ll tell you.” “Yes, you will.” “We do run in double harness, don’t we? Well, she said that Covinger wasn’t going back to New York until to-morrow night, as there was a tremendously important conference at noon to-morrow. Seven men will be there, and they will decide the fate of the nation. That’s exactly what she said. She’s bombastic, you know.” “Seven? Then they’re letting Covinger in?” “You knew about it?” “Not that it would be to-morrow.” “Is that why Senator Manning is coming to-night?” “Probably.” “Then that means----” Her voice broke in excitement. “That our fate hangs in the balance.” “Does it?” “It looks like it.” He smiled at her through the smoke of his cigar. Her eyes shone with myriad points of light. “Not planning what you’ll wear at the inauguration, are you?” he teased her. “No,” she said, “but wondering what you’ll say. It’s wonderful, isn’t it?” “Don’t count your chickens yet, Rhoda,” he warned her. “We, both of us, know the thousand slips between the cup of consideration and the lip of nomination. We’ve gone through it all for other offices.” “But we’ve won every time,” she said solemnly. “You’ve never been beaten, Burt. Don’t you see what an advantage that is, now? You’ve been going up, and up, and up.” “The Senate’s a rather high plateau, at that.”