Harlan was occupied with his own thoughts and shook his head. "I was _thinking_ she'd been away at school whenever you've been down here with me. Beautiful girl, my boy. Brains, too. Polish up your thoughts. These college girls are pretty bright, you know." "I don't think she will notice whether I've got any thoughts or not," replied the young man, sourly. "She won't pay much attention to a woodsman--not that kind of a girl." "What kind of a girl?" "One that's full of society notions and college airs. I know the kind. Unless a fellow has wasted about half his life in dancing and loafing around summer resorts they treat him as though he were a cross between an Eskimo and a Fiji. Life is too short to play poodle for girls of that sort." "Well, you are certainly on the mourners' bench to-day, front row and an end seat," said the old man, disgustedly. "You'd better go up and take a nap till breakfast-time, and use sleep, soap, a razor, and common sense and smooth yourself off. I reckon I haven't got you out of those woods any too quick." Only the earliest birds of the hostelry roost were about the big house at that hour. The new arrivals dodged scrub-women and sweepers in the office and on the stairs, and went to their rooms. The Duke, leaving his grandson at his bedroom door, suggested a bit stiffly that he would "call around about eight o'clock and open the den and lead him down to a little raw meat, unless he smoothed up his manners and his appetite in the mean time." CHAPTER XIII THE DUKE'S DOUBLE CAMPAIGN Presson came in with the Duke at eight o'clock, bringing cordial morning greetings to Harlan's room. The old man found his grandson much improved, both in spirits and garb. In his fresh, cool, summer gray, erect, stalwart, and clear-eyed, he won a grunt of approval from his mentor. "There's nothing like being young, Luke! I was just telling you that the boy was getting into the dumps--bound to study all the seams before he put the coat on. But the world looks better now, doesn't it, son?" "It's the fit of the coat that counts in politics," observed the chairman, sagely. "And the one that was built last night fits like the paper on the wall. Don't bother with the seams, Harlan. The lining covers 'em." "Presson likes the frame-up, Harlan," said the Duke, smiling broadly. "He isn't even jealous because I thought of it first." "Who else could have pulled it off as you have, Thelismer? It would take more than straight politics to get Vard Waymouth out of his den. And I could have offered only politics."