"You know," said he, and he mentioned the name of one of the richest men in America; not a man that had made his wealth even through the building of a great industry, but one that had, by "editing" money and combinations of money much in that manner in which a news-desk copy-reader edits the reporters’ "copy," made himself a member of the triumvirate—rumor said made the triumvirate and made himself its head—which had for years controlled alike the labor and capital of the country. "What’s he been saying?" asked Luke. "He’s been answering questions about campaign contributions." "To the Democrats?" "Well, no." The Congressman was reluctant. "It seems it was to the Republicans." Luke colored. "Of course," he said, "I always knew those fellows had no real political convictions, and of course any party is bound to have some bad lots among its small fry, but I do wish our National Committee would kick out of the ranks the men that take money from such people." The father did not like this. Luke had been a great deal away from him, first at boarding-school and then at college and the law-school, so that the two had not seen much of each other for many years; but since the younger had come home this last time, he had given frequent expression to sentiments of the present sort, and the Congressman, although he disliked argument as keenly as most Congressmen, felt that now it was his duty to protest. "My boy," he said, "you won’t go far if you go about talking that way. This contribution went to the fund that elected your District-Attorney Leighton." "I don’t believe it!" "That’s the testimony." "I don’t believe it. This man’s swearing to that so as to hurt the party in New York." "This man?" Luke’s father repeated the phrase interrogatively. His usual taciturnity fell from him. "Why do you say that? How do you know it? Why should he want to hurt the party? As a matter of fact, what do you know about ’this man,’ anyhow? Nothing but a lot of unfounded gossip printed in papers that want him to come over to their side. Why shouldn’t he help our party? I do know something about him. I’ve never met him, but I know the whole story of his career—know it intimately—and I tell you that his is the greatest intellect in America to-day, and he has used his intellect, and the wealth it got him, to help—not only once, but again and again—to help and to save—yes, save, the party and the prosperity of the nation. I tell you——" He did not tell any more. The down-train had been rumbling over the last span of the river-bridge when he began talking; and now it rolled before the station. Luke took his suitcase in one hand and extended the other in farewell. Unexpectedly he felt a lump in his throat. "Good-by," he said. His father gripped the hand. His habitual inarticulateness redescended upon him. "You’ve—I know you’re all right, Luke. Don’t forget to write once a week: your mother worries." "I won’t forget." They stood, hands clasped.