Harlan took one more look at the unconscious and fatuous Everett, and went out of the room. Twenty feet away, as he knew, sat his grandfather, ready and able to smash the candidate's dreams and chances as a child bursts a soap-bubble. And the man's money--thrown to the winds when a word might have held his hand and closed his pocket-book! Harlan, grandson of Thelismer Thornton, tried to put the thing out of his mind. "Politics," said a man in the corridor in his hearing, "has got the pelt off'm second-story work, as they're running the political game in this State right now. But it's only petty larceny. And that's why the whole thing makes me sick." "Me too," said his listener. "You could brag some about a political safe-blowing, but we all have to turn to and hush up this sneak-thief work." Harlan, walking on, wondered whether the coup that was then in process of elaboration in State Committee headquarters would not be considered by Everett and his supporters as arising to the proper dignity of political crime. To his surprise Spinney's rooms were practically deserted. The candidate was there, perched on the edge of a table, nursing his knee in his clasped hands and talking vigorously to a few of his intimates. The defection was not bothering him, apparently. Harlan promptly understood why. As he stood for a moment, making sure that neither Linton nor Wadsworth was there, he heard the mellow blare of distant band music. Spinney jumped off the table. "The boys are coming!" cried one of his friends, and stepped out through the window upon a balcony. "Wait till after I call for the cheers, Arba!" he called back. "Step out when they strike up _Hail to the Chief_." "This will make the Everett bunch sit up and take notice," said a man at Harlan's elbow. "There'll be a thousand men in line behind that band when she swings into the square, here! And a Spinney badge on every one of 'em!" He was challenged promptly. The corridor was full of Everett men. "Ten dollars to a drink that your man Spinney pays for the band! And when a band starts up street you can get every yag, vag, and jag in the city to trail it! You can't fool doubtful delegates that way, Seth! Go hang your badges on a hickory limb. They're only good to scare crows. You can't scare us!" This speaker heard Harlan making inquiries for his men. "The Colonel is down in the office," was his information, "over in the farther corner, behind one of those palms, telling war stories to Herbert Linton. Just came past 'em." It seemed a rather happy augury to Harlan; that out of that throng his two men should have paired themselves struck him as an interesting coincidence. He found them, and quietly delivered his message. Colonel Wadsworth stood up, gaunt, straight, twisting his sparse imperial, and blinking a bit doubtfully at the messenger. But Linton was not so much at a loss for reasons. He was an earnest young man with slow, illuminating smile.