"Begins to look as if we can get the indorsement of the anti-Tammany Democrats," he said as he hurried by. "I’ve just had a talk with Seeley and Ellison. They’re coming here at three o’clock." Luke held up his paper. "This is an awful thing," he said. "What?" asked Leighton. He passed beside Luke’s desk. "Oh, the North Bridge wreck? Yes, isn’t it? When Ellison and Seeley come, don’t let anybody butt in on me." "You know who are really the responsible crowd in the M. & N.?" Luke persisted. His manner was the sleepy manner that had grown upon him for the past twelvemonth, but his eyes were keen. "Yes," said Leighton absently. He ran his fingers through his always disordered hair. "Yes I know, but we couldn’t prove it." He looked at his watch. "Don’t forget," he concluded, "you’re to head off anybody that comes after three o’clock, and if you’re busy, then turn them over to one of the other fellows." §2. At half-past four Luke’s office-boy announced James T. Rollins. Luke looked up heavily from the latest edition of the _Evening World_. "Who’s James T. Rollins?" he inquired. The boy did not know. "But he looks like he owned the Stock Exchange," he said. "Wanted the Boss: I told him he was busy." Luke wearily laid aside his paper. "Very well, bring him in." The boy went out and straightway reopened the door to admit the visitor. Dressed in a russet brown, Rollins was short and stout; his eyebrows were bushy, and he made an effort to keep his thick lips drawn in a firm line. He so much resembled the pictures of the man just then predominant in Luke’s mind that the assistant District-Attorney was startled. "Mr. Rollins?" The visitor tried to speak, but seemed to be unable to accomplish articulation. He nodded. He stood erect in the attitude of one accustomed to receive orders, and his right hand tapped his stiff hat against his thigh. Luke indicated a chair beside his desk. "Sit down." Rollins complied. He sat far forward in the chair, as if expecting to be ordered out of it at the next moment. Both hands now clutched the brim of his hat, which he held between his fat, outspread knees. "You wanted to see Mr. Leighton?" inquired Luke. Rollins coughed. "Yes, sir." "I’m sorry." Luke was accustomed to callers of the hesitant sort: he wished that this one would go and leave him alone with the new idea that was growing in his brain; but Leighton, like the good politician that he was, had always given strict orders that every caller should be well received. "I’m afraid Mr. Leighton’s very busy now. He has some most important business in hand." Rollins made an effort toward dignity; his words succeeded, but his manner of uttering them failed: "My business is important, too." "And immediate?" "Yes, sir." "Then perhaps I can attend to it for you." Rollins shook his head. "I’ve got to see the District-Attorney." "But I am his assistant." "Yes, sir, I know. But this is confidential."