For answer I could only shake my head. "No matter who is the nominee," I went on after a moment, "our party can't win." I half-yielded to the impulse of sentimentality and turned to him appealingly. "James," said I, "why don't you--right away--before the country sees you are to be denied a renomination--publicly announce that you won't take it in any circumstances? Why don't you devote the rest of your term to regaining your lost--popularity? Every day has its throngs of opportunities for the man in the White House. Break boldly and openly with Goodrich and his crowd." I saw and read the change in his face. My advice about the nomination straightway closed his mind against me; at the mention of Goodrich, his old notion of my jealousy revived. And I saw, too, that contact with and use of and subservience to corruption had so corrupted him that he no longer had any faith in any method not corrupt. All in an instant I realized the full folly of what I was doing. I felt confident that by pursuing the line I had indicated he could so change the situation in the next few months that he would make it impossible for them to refuse to renominate him, might make it possible for him to be elected. But even if he had the wisdom to listen, where would he get the courage and the steadfastness to act? I gave him up finally and for ever. A man may lose his own character and still survive, and even go far. But if he lose belief in character as a force, he is damned. He could not survive in a community of scoundrels. Burbank sat motionless and with closed eyes, for a long time. I watched the people in the throng of carriages--hundreds of faces all turned toward him, all showing that mingled admiration, envy and awe which humanity gives its exalted great. "The President! The President!" I heard every few yards in excited undertones. And hats were lifting, and once a crowd of enthusiastic partizans raised a cheer. "The President!" I thought, with mournful irony. And I glanced at him. Suddenly he was transformed by an expression the most frightful I have ever seen. It was the look of a despairing, weak, vicious thing, cornered, giving battle for its life--like a fox at bay before a pack of huge dogs. It was not Burbank--no, _he_ was wholly unlike that. It was Burbank's ambition, interrupted at its meal by the relentless, sure-aiming hunter, Fate. "For God's sake, Burbank!" I exclaimed. "All these people are watching us." "To hell with them!" he ground out. "I tell you, Sayler, I _will_ be nominated! And elected too, by God! I will not be thrown aside like an emptied orange-skin. I will show them that I am President."