“Hey, doggie! Hey, doggie! Heel!” he called. James T. Hollow was not without perception. He blushed painfully. But Gergue took no notice of the jest, for as they approached the group, one of the men detached himself and came to meet them. This was Winthrop Chase--Winthrop Chase, Senior--the candidate opposing Hollow for the mayoralty. Hardiston felt that it was gracious of Chase to offer himself for the office, for he was a man of affairs, chief owner of the biggest furnace, a coal operator of importance in other fields, and not unknown in state political circles. He was an erect man, so erect that he leaned backward, and with a peculiarly healthy look about him. He had a strong jaw and a small, governed mouth. His manner was courtly and gracious. Some considered it condescending. “Good morning, Gergue,” he said now. “Good morning, Mr. Hollow.” “Howdo,” Gergue returned. Hollow was more loquacious. “How do you do, Mr. Chase.” “The Congressman comes back to-day?” Chase asked. “Yep,” said Gergue. “We ought to have a reception for him at the station. He has made a name for himself at this session.” “Always had a name,” Gergue commented, and spat carelessly, so close to Winthrop Chase, Senior’s polished shoes that the great man moved uneasily to one side. “I suppose he is coming to take a hand in the mayoralty campaign,” said Chase urbanely. He could afford to be urbane. “He didn’t say,” Gergue declared. “I’m sorry we’re on opposite sides of the fence in this squabble. Tell him he and I must work together hereafter.” “You tell him.” Chase laughed. “I believe he will see it--without being told,” he said loudly, and the three men at his back smiled. “He will, no doubt, find some change in Hardiston affairs.” “He will if there is any.” “Perhaps even in the district. Though of course he does not have to seek reëlection this fall.” “No.” “Still--” Gergue interrupted maliciously: “By th’ way, how’s Wint?” The question had a curious effect upon Chase. It surprised him, it seemed to embarrass him, and it certainly angered him. He opened his mouth to speak. “He--” But before he could go on, Gergue interposed: “I hear Columbus would’ve gone dry in spite of itself, if they hadn’t sent him home from State when they did.” And he departed with the honors of war, leaving Chase to sputter angrily into the sympathetic ears of his companions. When he and Hollow were half a block away, Gergue permitted himself to smile. Then he frowned and looked at Hollow. “Why don’t you talk up to him, Jim?” he asked disgustedly. “I--always try to do what is right, Peter. I’d like to, I really would.” “Would you, now?” Gergue echoed mockingly. “Yes, I really would,” insisted James T. Hollow. “Well, all right then,” said Gergue affably. “Le’s go along.”