On the morning after the convention Douglas Briggs sat in his study, looking over his letters. He heard a tap at the door, and Michael entered with two telegrams. “If any callers come,” said Briggs, “take them into the reception room.” “Yes, sir.” “And give these telegrams to Sam.” Michael nodded gravely; but he did not stir. “That’s all,” said Briggs, without looking up. “It’s glad I am, sir, yer got ahead o’ them div’ls last night,” said Michael. “Thank you, Michael. We had a hard fight.” “Sure, that was a fine speech yer made, sir.” Briggs raised his head. “I’m glad you heard it.” He glanced sharply at Michael. “Were you there?” “No, sir, but me cousin Ned was, that works for Mr. Barstow over the way. He told me about it this mornin’, an’ I’ve read it in the mornin’ papers.” “I haven’t had time to look at the papers yet,” Briggs remarked, absently. “Here they are, sir.” “All right.” Michael kept his position. “Ned said it was fine the way yer drove the lies down their throats, sir.” “Oh, well, I had to get back at ’em somehow,” Briggs replied, carelessly. Michael assumed a more familiar attitude. “Sure, it’s a shame the things they say about a man when he’s in politics. There was Miles O’Connor, over in the Ninth Ward, one of the foinest men----” “I guess that’ll do, Michael,” Briggs interrupted. “Have those telegrams sent as soon as you can.” Michael hurriedly left the room. “Yes, sir,” he said at the door. Briggs passed one hand over his forehead. “God!” he muttered. “I have to keep up this bluff even before my servants.” Just as he resumed work he heard Michael’s tap again. “Come in,” he cried, impatiently. “Here’s something that just come by messenger, sir,” said Michael. “Put it on the table, and don’t interrupt me again till I ring. Keep any other letters and telegrams till Mr. Fullerton comes down.” “Oh, I forgot to tell you, sir,” said Michael. “Mr. West called you up on the telephone a little while ago.” Briggs looked surprised. “Mr. Franklin West?” he asked, with a frown. “Yes, sir.” “From Washington, do you mean? Why didn’t you let me know?” “No, sir, not from Washington. He’s here in town, sir. He told me not to wake you up.” “Where is he?” Briggs asked. “He’s stoppin’ at a hotel, sir.” Briggs hesitated. “At a hotel?” he repeated. “What did he go to a hotel for? He always stays here when he comes to town.” “He come over last night on the midnight train, sir. Here’s the telephone number. He said perhaps ye’d be kind enough to call him up this mornin’ and let him know when it would be most convenient for yer to see him.” “Strange,” Briggs remarked, thoughtfully. Then he turned to Michael. “Did he say that anyone was with him?” Michael shook his head. “He only said he’d wait at the hotel till he heard from yer, sir.”