“But they’ll stand by Mr. Wheeler?” “Probably—yes. However, use your head, and do all you can with it.” “And where do I come in?” asked Genevieve, who had been an interested listener. “You don’t come in at all, Miss. You mostly stay out. You’re to keep in the background. I have to take you, for we’re only staying one night at Sycamore Ridge, and then going on to Boston, and I’ll need you there.” “Yes, sir,” and the blue eyes turned from him and looked absorbedly into a tiny mirror, as Genevieve contemplated her pleasant pink-and-whiteness. Her vanity and its accompanying box were matters of indifference to Mr. Appleby and to Keefe, for the girl’s efficiency and skill outweighed them and her diligence and loyalty scored one hundred per cent. Appleby’s fetish was efficiency. He had found it and recognized it in his secretary and stenographer and he was willing to recompense it duly, even generously. Wherefore the law business of Samuel Appleby, though carried on for the benefit of a small number of clients, was of vast importance and productive of lucrative returns. At present, the importance was overshadowed by the immediate interest of a campaign, which, if successful would land the second Appleby in the gubernatorial chair. This plan, as yet not a boom, was taking shape with the neatness and dispatch that characterized the Appleby work. Young Sam was content to have the matter principally in his father’s hands, and things had reached a pitch where, to the senior mind, the coöperation of Daniel Wheeler was imperatively necessary. And, therefore, to Wheeler’s house they must betake themselves. “What do you know about the Wheeler business, kid?” Keefe inquired, after Mr. Appleby had left them. Genevieve leaned back in her chair, her dimpled chin moving up and down with a pretty rhythm as she enjoyed her chewing-gum, and gazed at the ceiling beams. Appleby’s offices were in his own house, and the one given over to these two was an attractive room, fine with mahogany and plate glass, but also provided with all the paraphernalia of the most up-to-date of office furniture. There were good pictures and draperies, and a wood fire added to the cheer and mitigated the chill of the early fall weather. Sidling from her seat, Miss Lane moved over to a chair near the fire. “I’ll take those letters when you’re ready,” she said. “Why, I don’t know a single thing about any Wheeler. Do you?” “Not definitely. He’s a man who had an awful fight with Mr. Appleby, long ago. I’ve heard allusions to him now and then, but I know no details.” “I, either. But, it seems we’re to go there. Only for a night, and then, on to Boston! Won’t I be glad to go!” “We’ll only be there a few days. I’m more interested in this Wheeler performance. I don’t understand it. Who’s Wheeler, anyhow?” “Dunno. If Sammy turns up this morning, he may enlighten us.” Sammy did turn up, and not long after the conversation young Appleby strolled into the office.