Gergue’s office is above that of the Building and Loan Company, on Main Street, opposite the Court House. There are spider webs in the corners and on the windows; there is dust on everything. The floor of soft wood has been worn till every knot stands up like a wart, and every nail protrudes its shining head. Against one wall, there is a wardrobe of walnut, higher than a man. Within this piece some law books are piled, and a few rusty garments hang. In the summer, moths nest here; in the winter they hibernate in their nests. The garments have not been disturbed for years, and now their fabric looks more like mosquito netting than honest broadcloth and serge. Gergue has an old kitchen table, covered with oilcloth, near the windows that overlook the street. There is an iron inkwell on this table, a pen, and a miscellaneous litter of papers, while at one side of the table, on the window sill, stands his notary’s seal and a disused letter press. The oilcloth top of the table has worn through in many places, and the soft wood beneath is polished to a not unlovely luster by constant usage. Toward train time of the day Congressman Caretall was to come home, Gergue was in this office of his. James T. Hollow was with him, sitting stiffly in a chair that was too narrow for his pudgy bulk. James T. Hollow was a candidate for Mayor. Amos Caretall was supporting him. And Gergue, as Caretall’s first lieutenant, had asked Hollow to go with him to the train to meet the Congressman. Hollow had obeyed the summons, and now waited Gergue’s pleasure. He was smiling with a determined, though tremulous, amiability. “I’ve always aimed to do what was right,” he explained hurriedly. They had been discussing the chance of his election. Gergue nodded his head. “That’s what you always do,” he agreed. “Trouble is, Chase has aimed to do what wa’n’t right, and looks like he’d get away with it.” The other flushed painfully, and his mouth opened as though he would like to speak, but it was some time before he managed to ask: “Is that--the reason Congressman Caretall is coming home?” The Court House clock, across the street, struck four. The train was due at four-twenty-two. Gergue rose slowly. “Well, now, let’s go down and ask him,” he invited. Hollow assented weakly. “Yes, I guess that’s the right thing to do.” Gergue looked at him with faint impatience. “Why do you guess it’s the right thing to do?” he inquired. The other hesitated, lifted his hands, spread them helplessly. “Well--isn’t it?” he asked. “Oh, dear!” said Gergue sweetly. “Well--come on.” Hollow was a man with very short legs. This gave him an unfortunate, pattering appearance when he walked with a taller man; and as he and Gergue turned down Main Street toward the station, this fact was commented upon. Some of the comments were direct, some subtle. For example, one of a group of four men at the hotel corner, when the two approached, looked all about him and whistled shrilly.