"Do you know what this means?" he cried. His mouth was wide with laughter; the whole man exulted. "This re-elects me! Nothing can keep us out now, Huber—not a thing on God’s green footstool. All we’ve got to do is use these letters and then sit back and fold our arms and attend to office business. Politics? These two pieces of paper will play all the politics we need, and more besides. I could shout, Huber; I could sing a regular Song of Deborah. What about Mr. Timothy Heney, _now_? And his Tammany? Gone the way of Sisera, my boy. Tim Heney! ’At her feet he bowed, he fell, he lay down; at her feet he bowed, he fell: where he bowed, there he fell down dead!’" Luke’s old enthusiasm was rekindled. He thought that he had been misjudging Leighton. Of course the man had been discouraged: he had never before been able to seize an efficient weapon with which to shatter the forces of wrong; even at this time it was only reasonable that his first thought should be of his immediate political opponents; but the weapon was put into his hand at last, the blow would be given against both Tammany and Wall Street; it would be the blow that Luke had hoped for when he read the first accounts of the North Bridge wreck. "There must be a special Grand Jury to investigate the disaster," said Luke, his words falling over one another much as Leighton’s had done. "We must keep the letters dark till it’s in session, and then produce them. We can give them to the papers right afterward. It will be jail for the lot of them. Big as they are, it’ll be that. It’ll be the end of the whole crowd!" Leighton drew away. His face changed. His entire attitude altered. "What are you talking about?" he asked dryly. "Why"—Luke was amazed—"about these letters, of course." "Well, do you think I’m green enough to waste them on a jury? Not much!" Luke began to comprehend. He felt unsteady. He was standing close to Leighton’s desk, and he put out a hand and gripped the edge of its top shelf. "Not give them to the jury?" But perhaps he was wrong. Of course he was wrong. "Oh, I see," he said; "maybe it’s better not to risk any more lives by waiting. You’re going to force this crowd to put down a decent road-bed? Only if you do that—— Well, it’s fine of you, but you’ll not be any better off politically." Leighton turned his swivel-chair and sat down in it. His manner became that of an employer trying to be calm and to instill reason into an annoying employee.