By the end of June rumors had changed to certainties. Harniss now knew something of the extent of the disaster which had befallen its great man. Knew it, rather than guessed or imagined it. The acres of pasture land and the square mile of wood lots belonging to Foster Townsend were his no longer. Some of the real estate had gone at private sale; a public auction disposed of much more. The trotters and all the racing paraphernalia were sent to Boston, to be sold by dealers there. The mare, Claribel, Varunas Gifford’s especial pride, was bought by Sam Baker; this was the bitterest blow for Varunas. The famous span was sold. Of all the Townsend stable there remained but one horse, and that a sober, middle-aged animal fit only for pulling a carriage. And of all the carriages were left but two, a buggy and a carryall. The Townsend mansion, shorn of its surrounding meadows and pine-sprinkled fields, was still owned and occupied by the man who built it, and the Clark cottage and the acre and a half upon which it stood were still his. For some reason he had refused to sell the cottage property. It seemed odd, for every one knew that he had been offered, and more than once, a good price for it. Its situation upon the main road and adjoining the post office made it desirable. The big mogul was no longer big, so far as his possessions were concerned. His progress through his native town was not triumphal now. His closest friends still stood by him, but his influence among the majority was waning. For years unconquerable he had been beaten at last and badly beaten. Elisha Cook had beaten him, even young Griffin had got the better of him. No longer a millionaire, the richest man in the county, he was now estimated to be worth perhaps forty or fifty thousand dollars exclusive of the house he lived in and the Clark cottage. There were a half dozen wealthier men than that in Harniss alone. The old guard among the politicians still came to consult him, but there was a new and younger element gaining strength and influence and they did not consult him at all. The Honorable Alpheus Mooney was their leader now. Foster Townsend was quite aware of his shrunken importance. Yet there was no change in his manner and attitude. His excursions to and from the stores and the post office were now, for the most part, made on foot, but his step was firm, his dress as carefully chosen, his silk hat as neatly brushed as in the days when that hat was revered by the masses as the crown upon the head of the potentate whom they feared and honored. And his speech was as brusque, his nod as off-hand, his manner of greeting his fellow-citizens, high and low, just as uncompromising and stand-offish as ever. Tobias Eldridge happened to be present at a meeting between Townsend and Congressman Mooney and had much to say about it.