“Mr. Stirling,” called Kennedy. “Won’t you stay and take some whisky and water with us?” “Thank you,” said Peter. “Mr. Costell’s in my room and he must be tired of waiting.” He closed the door, and walked away. The couple looked at each other blankly for a moment. “The —— cuss is playing a double game,” Maguire gasped. “I don’t know what it means!” said Kennedy. “Mean?” cried Maguire. “It can mean only one thing. He’s acting under Costell’s orders.” “But why should he give it away to us?” “How the —— should I know? Look here, Kennedy, you must do it, after all.” “I don’t want to.” “Tut, tut, man, you must.” “But my ward?” “Come. We’ll make it quarantine, as you want. That’s six years, and you can —— your ward.” “I’ll do it.” “That’s the talk.” They sat and discussed plans and whisky for nearly an hour. Then Maguire said good-night. “You shall have the speech the first thing in the morning,” he said at parting. Then as he walked down the long corridor, he muttered, “Now then, Stirling, look out for the hind heel of the mule.” Peter found Costell still waiting for him. “It took me longer than I thought, for Maguire was there.” “Indeed!” said Costell, making room for Peter on the window-ledge. Peter re-lit his cigar, “Maguire promises me that Porter shall be nominated by one of his friends.” “He had been trying Kennedy?” “I didn’t ask.” Costell smiled. “I had no business to ask you that?” “No,” Peter said frankly. Both puffed their cigars for a time in silence. Then Costell began talking about Saratoga. He told Peter where the “Congress” spring was, and what was worth seeing. Finally he rose to go. He held out his hand, and said: “Mr. Stirling, you’ve been as true as steel with us, and with the other men. I don’t want you to suppose we are not conscious of it. I think you’ve done us a great service to-night, although it might have been very profitable to you if you had done otherwise. I don’t think that you’ll lose by it in the long run, but I’m going to thank you now, for myself. Good-night.” Peter had a good night. Perhaps it was only because he was sleepy, but a pleasant speech is not a bad night-cap. At least it is better than a mental question-mark as to whether one has done wrong. Peter did not know how it was coming out, but he thought he had done right, and need not spend time on a blank wall that evening. CHAPTER XXIII THE CONVENTION. Though Peter had not gone to bed so early as he hoped, he was up the next morning, and had tramped his eight miles through and around Saratoga, before the place gave many evidences of life. He ended his tramp at the Congress spring, and tasted the famous water, with exceeding disgust at the result. As he set down his half-finished tumbler, and turned to leave, he found Miss De Voe at his elbow, about to take her morning glass. “This is a very pleasant surprise,” she said, holding out her hand. “When did you arrive?” “I only came last night.”