“Well,” said Peter, “I realize the honor offered me, but I don’t see my way to take it. It will please me better to see him nominated by some one who has really stood close to him, than to gain his favor by doing it myself.” “Think twice, Mr. Stirling.” “If you would rather, I will not give you my answer till to-morrow morning?” “I would,” said Maguire rising, “Try and make it favorable. It’s a great chance to do good for yourself and for your side. Good-night.” Peter closed his door, and looked about for a bit of blank wall. But on second thought he sat down on his window-sill, and, filling his pipe, tried to draw conclusions as well as smoke from it. “I wonder,” he pondered to himself, “how much of that was Maguire, and how much Porter? Ought I, for the sake of doing my best for my ward, to have let him go on? Has an agent any right to refuse what will help is client, even if it comes by setting pitfalls?” Rap, rap, rap. “Come in,” called Peter, forgetting he had turned down his light. The door opened and Mr. Costell came in. “Having a quiet smoke?” he asked. “Yes. I haven’t a cigar to offer you. Can you join me in a pipe?” “I haven’t come to that yet. Suppose you try one of my cigars.” Costell sat down on the window-ledge by Peter. “Thank you,” said Peter. “I like a cigar, but it must be a good one, and that kind I can’t afford.” He lit the cigar, and leaned back to luxuriate in it. “You’ll like that, I’m sure. Pretty sight, isn’t it?” Costell pointed to the broad veranda, three stories below them, gay with brilliant dresses. “Yes. It’s my first visit here, so it’s new to me.” “It won’t be your last. You’ll be attending other conventions than this.” “I hope so.” “One of my scouts tells me you’ve had a call from Maguire?” “Yes.” Peter hesitated a moment. “He wants me to nominate Porter,” he continued, as soon as he had decided that plain speaking was fair to Maguire. “We shall be very sorry to see you do it.” “I don’t think I shall. They only want me because it would give the impression that Porter has a city backing, and to try to give that amounts to a deception.” “Can they get Schlurger or Kennedy?” “Schlurger is safe. I don’t know about Kennedy.” “Can you find out for us?” “Yes. When would you like to know?” “Can you see him now? I’ll wait here.” Peter rose, looking at his cigar with a suggestion of regret. But he rubbed out the light, and left the room. At the office, he learned the number of Kennedy’s room, and went to it. On knocking, the door was opened only a narrow crack. “Oh! it’s you,” said Kennedy. “Come in.” Peter entered, and found Maguire seated in an easy attitude on a lounge. He noticed that his thumbs were once more tucked into his waistcoat. “Mr. Kennedy,” said Peter without seating himself, “there is an attempt being made to get a city delegate to nominate Porter. It seems to me that is his particular friends’ business.”