“Well—yes,” answered the creator of the Plymouth Rock Dollar Shirt cautiously. “We're going to read Dick Pogue out of meeting, Mr. Carveth; he's been fed from the public crib about long enough. I suppose you've seen in the Washington despatches that Senator Burke is ill? One of the first jobs the next governor will have will be to appoint his successor.” “That's so; but you ain't told me where the hitch comes in.” “Ain't I?” rasped out the boss. “It's just here: Pogue's got his eye on his brother for the place, yet when Burke was made senator it was agreed I was to follow him. Isn't it plain to you why I came down here? I want your word that I'm to succeed Burke; then I'll shake hands with the next governor.” “When it's business I'll dicker for anything I can swap, use myself, or give away; but I got a different feeling about politics,” remarked Mr. Carveth. This came with such a shock to Ames that he almost fell off his seat. “Quite right, Mr. Carveth,” said Smith pleasantly. “But a few pledges——” “I won't promise nothin',” said Jeremiah Carveth with sudden stubbornness. “If I go to office I'm going there a free man. Otherwise Marysville's good enough for me.” “Not pledged in any offensive sense, Mr. Carveth,” Smith urged. “We would never attempt to dictate a course of action to you——” “I guess you wouldn't—more than once,” said Carveth shortly. Mr. Smith gasped audibly, and Ames surmised he was hearing the distant roar of the convention, the first rumble of that landslide he had prematurely set going, which was to bury Slippery Dick while it uncovered Jeremiah Carveth. “I'm offering you the place at the head of the ticket,” began Smith quietly. “That's tantamount to election; all I want is your promise that if Burke dies you'll appoint me to fill out his term——” “Ain't you read any of my speeches?” asked Carveth. “Haven't you noticed that I take pretty firm ground in the matter of boss rule? Mr. Smith, you're the last man I'd ever think of making senator. I don't want to seem rude, but, well, I've told you Marysville's good enough for me.” “Don't worry;” said Smith. “I had determined to support you; I could not imagine that you would be so blind to your own interests as not to meet me half-way; but a dozen telegrams will change the program—you'll go back to Marysville all right.” McPherson had slipped from the room, and Ames abandoned his post and hurried in pursuit. He was just in time to see the secretary's long legs vanishing around a turn in the corridor. Keeping them in sight he descended to the office floor. McPherson was now speaking directly to the clerk. “Will you go personally to Mr. Carveth's room and interrupt the conference there between him and Mr. Smith? Mr. Smith wishes particularly to catch the eleven-ten train.”