“Mr. Killen spent an hour last night with Big Tim at the Pacific Hotel.” “Sneaked in by the side entrance and took the elevator to the seventh floor. The deal was arranged in Room 743,” added Rawson. “You spied on me,” burst from Killen's lips. “Sure thing. And we caught you with the goods,” sneered the red-faced politician. “I'll not stand it. I'll not support a man that won't trust me.” “You won't, eh?” Rawson was across the floor in two jumps, worrying his victim as a terrier does a rat. “Forget it. You were elected to support R. K. Hardy, sewed up with a pledge tight and fast. We're not in the primer class, Killen. Don't get a notion you're going to do as you damn please. You'll--vote--for--R.--K.--Hardy. Get that?” “I refuse to be moved by threats, and I decline to discuss the matter further,” retorted Killen with a pitiable attempt at dignity. Rawson laughed with insulting menace. “That's a good one. I've sold out, but it's none of your business what I got. That what you mean?” “You surely must recognize our right to an explanation, Killen,” Jeff said gently. “No, sir, I don't,” flushed the little man with sullen bravado. “I ain't got a thing against you, but Rawson goes too far.” “I think he does,” Jeff agreed. “Killen is all right. Gentlemen, suppose you let him and me talk it over alone. We can reach an agreement that is satisfactory.” Hardy's face cleared. This was not the first waverer Jeff had brought back into line, not the first by several. There was something compelling in his friendly smile and affectionate manner. “I'm sure Mr. Killen intends only what is right. I'm content to leave the matter entirely with you and him,” Hardy said. Jeff turned to Rawson. “And you, old warhorse?” “Have it your own way, but don't forget there's a nigger in the woodpile.” Jeff and Killen walked to the office of the latter, which was on the next floor of the Century Building, the legislator stiffening his will to resist the assaults he felt would be made upon it. But as soon as the door was shut Jeff surprised him by laying a hand on his shoulder. “Tell me all about it, Sam.” Killen gasped. He got an impossible vision of young Farnum as his brother in trouble. “About what? I didn't say--” “I've known for a week something was wrong. I couldn't very well ask you, but since I've blundered in you'd better let me help you if I can.” Killen was touched. His lip trembled. “It don't do any good to talk about things. I guess a fellow has to carry his own griefs. Nobody else is hunting for a chance to invest in them.” “What's a friend for?” Jeff wanted to know gently. The little man gulped. “I guess I've got no friends. Anyhow they don't count when a fellow's in hard luck. It's every man for himself.” The younger man's smile was warm as summer sunshine. “Wrong guess, Sam. We're in this little old world to help each other when we can.”