“I see, Griff,” the doctor said, “that you are going to support Kenyon. I declare it shakes my confidence in you,” And he drew forward his chair. Like most Americans, the physician was something of a politician, and, as is also true of most Americans, not professionally concerned in the hunt for office, this interest fluctuated between the two extremes of party enthusiasm before and non-partisan disgust after elections. Ryder smiled faintly. “Yes, we know just how much of a rascal Kenyon is, and we know nothing at all about the other fellow, except that he wants the nomination, which is a bad sign. Suppose he should turn out a greater scamp! Really it's too much of a risk.” he drawled, with an affectation of contempt. “Your politics always were a shock to your friends, but this serves to explain them,” remarked the doctor, with latent combativeness. But Ryder was not to be beguiled into argument. He turned again to Miss Emory. “Your father is not a practical politician, or he would realize that it is only common thrift to send Kenyon back, for I take it he has served his country not without profit to himself; besides, he is clamorous and persistent, and there seems no other way to dispose of him. It's either that or the penitentiary.” Constance laughed softly. “And so you think he can afford to be honest now? What shocking ethics!” “That is my theory. Anyhow, I don't see why your father should wish me to forego the mild excitement of assisting to re-elect my more or less disreputable friend. Antioch has had very little to offer one until you came,” he added, with gentle deference. Miss Emory accepted the compliment with the utmost composure. Once she had been rather flattered by his attentions, but four years make a great difference. Either he had lost in cleverness, or she had gained in knowledge. He was a very tired young man. At one time he had possessed some expectations and numerous pretensions. The expectation had faded out of his life, but the pretence remained in the absence of any vital achievement. He was college-bred, and had gone in for literature. From literature he had drifted into journalism, and had ended in Antioch as proprietor of the local paper, which he contrived to edit with a lively irresponsibility that won him few friends, though it did gain him some small reputation as a humorist. His original idea had been that the management of a country weekly would afford him opportunity for the serious work which he believed he could do, but he had not done this serious work, and was not likely to do it. He derived a fair income from the _Herald_, and he allowed his ambitions to sink into abeyance, in spite of his cherished conviction that he was cut out for bigger things. Perhaps he had wisely decided that his pretensions were much safer than accomplishment, since the importance of what a man actually does can generally be measured, while what he might do admits of exaggerated claims.