Larkin rose. "I've got to get to work. See you here to-morrow night at seven, Mr. Culver--seven sharp. I guess it'll be Judge Graney on the third ballot. On the first ballot the organization'll vote solid for Graney, and my fellows'll vote for John Frankfort. On the second ballot half my Frankfort crowd'll switch over to Graney. On the third I'll put the rest of 'em over, and that'll be enough to elect--probably the Scarborough crowd'll see it's no use and let us make it unanimous. The losers are always hot for harmony." "That sounds well," said Merriweather--his was a voice that left his hearers doubtful whether he meant what his words said or the reverse. Culver looked with secret admiration from one man to the other, and continued to think of them and to admire, after they had gone. He felt important, sitting in and by proxy directing the councils of these powerful men, these holders and manipulators of the secret strings whereto were attached puppet peoples and puppet politicians. Seven years behind the scenes with Dumont's most private affairs had given him a thoroughgoing contempt for the mass of mankind. Did he not sit beside the master, at the innermost wheels, deep at the very heart of the intricate mechanism? Did not that position make him a sort of master, at any rate far superior to the princeliest puppet? At five the next afternoon--the afternoon of the day before the convention--he was at the Eyrie, and sent a servant to say to Mrs. Dumont that he would like to see her. She came down to him in the library. "I'm only troubling you for a moment," he said. "I'll relieve you of my package." "Very well," said Pauline. "I haven't thought of it since day before yesterday. I'll bring it down to you." She left him in the library and went up the stairs--she had been reading everything that was published about the coming convention, and the evident surprise of all the politicians at the strength Scarborough was mustering for ex-Governor Bowen had put her in high good humor. She cautioned herself that he could not carry the convention; but his showing was a moral victory--and what a superb personal triumph! With everything against him--money and the machine and the skilful confusing of the issues by his crafty opponents--he had rallied about him almost all that was really intelligent in his party; and he had demonstrated that he had on his side a mass of the voters large out of all proportion to the number of delegates he had wrested away from the machine--nearly three hundred, when everybody had supposed the machine would retain all but a handful. Money! Her lips curled scornfully--out here, in her own home, among these simple people, the brutal power of money was master just as in New York, among a people crazed by the passion for luxury and display.