The change in her wakened Luke. He restored his watch to his pocket. He felt a slight chill at his heart and a self-accusation. "No," he said brusquely; and started to walk away. The woman followed. "Aw, come on," she urged. Her tone coarsened under his refusal. "No," said Luke. "Please?" her voice whined. She put her hand on his arm. Luke shook off the hand. He was too angry with himself to have pity for her. "Stop this," he ordered. "But won’t you listen?" The woman’s hand returned persistently; it clutched. "I got somethin’ to——" Luke saw that they were at the door of the Arapahoe. "I’m sorry," he said, "but I can’t stop to listen to you." He went into the apartment house. §2. He really was sorry. Once inside the door of the Arapahoe, he said to himself that the woman had only been plying her trade, and that what he had visited upon her was a portion of the wrath against his own momentary weakness. He could never have given way to her, because he was so firm in his resolve to live worthily for Betty that he could not enough want to give way to offset the efficacy of his resolve; only the portion of him subject to his will without being a part of his will had momentarily weakened; it could not have rebelled victoriously, and although it merited punishment, the exterior cause of its weakness did not deserve censure. Altogether, Luke concluded, he had behaved in a rather contemptible fashion. His mind was immediately diverted. As he passed the clerk’s desk in the hall, the clerk beckoned darkly to him. "There are some reporters looking for you here," he whispered. "I sent them into the waiting-room so’s you could get by them when you came in, if you wanted to. Do you?" Luke almost laughed as he reflected upon the figure he would have presented to the representatives of the press, had they been waiting for him at the door. "Yes, I’ll see them," he said. They came to him in a body, seven of them. They worked for the morning papers and, because the evening papers had printed Luke’s letter about his resignation from the District-Attorney’s staff, they wanted a fresh sensation for their journals. Luke leaned against a pillar in the lobby and talked to them. Most of them he had met while in Leighton’s office. Personally, he was popular with them, and he liked them. "I’ll say anything you want," he agreed. "But what is there to say?" The spokesman was a keen man with curling black hair. "You might develop the last part of your letter," he suggested: "the part about the big financiers that you’re going gunning for." "I haven’t got the gun yet," objected Luke. "Better wait and see if I’m nominated, boys." "Oh, you’ll be nominated, all right. Come on, Mr. Huber." "You’re going to support the League, anyhow," said a stout little fellow, whose paper opposed all reformers. "You can tell us how the League will go for the men at the top."