Mr. Baxter began to finger the drawing on his desk, whereby Tom knew the interview was at an end. Greatly dashed, but somewhat reassured by the contractor's last words, he said good-afternoon and withdrew. The uniform respectfully opened the gate in the railing. In the uniform's book of wisdom it was writ down that anyone who could be closeted with your boss was deserving of courtesy. The instant the office door closed on Tom's back Mr. Baxter quickly rose and paced the floor for several minutes. Then he sat down at his desk, took a sheet of paper from a drawer, and dashed off a note to Foley. Mr. Baxter did not rise to greet Foley when the walking delegate entered his office the next afternoon. "Mr. Foley," he said, with a short nod of his head. "Youse guessed my name," said Foley, cooly helping himself to a chair. "What's doin'?" The two men watched each other narrowly, as might two enemies who have established a truce, yet who suspect treachery on the part of the other. There was a distant superiority in the manner of Mr. Baxter,--and also the hardly concealed strain of the man who, from policy or breeding, would be polite where he loathes. Foley, tilted back in his chair, matched this manner with an air of defiant self-assertion. Mr. Baxter rapidly sketched the outline of what Tom had said to him. "And so Keating come to youse for help," grinned Foley. "That ain't bad!" Mr. Baxter did not recognize Foley's equality by smiling. "I thought it to your interest to let you know this at once, for----" "And to your interest, too." "I knew you were not particularly desirous of having Mr. Keating elected," he continued. "I'm just about as anxious as youse are," said Foley promptly. "Anyhow," he added carelessly, "I already knew what youse told me." Which he did not. "Then my sending for you and telling you has served no purpose." The coldness of his voice placed a wide distance between himself and the walking delegate. Foley perceived the distance, and took a vindictive pleasure in bridging it with easy familiarity. "Not at all, Baxter. It gives youse a chance to show how much youse like me, an' how much youse've got the interest o' the union at heart." The lean, sarcastic face nettled Mr. Baxter. "I think my reputation speaks for my interest in the union," he said stiffly. "Your interest in the union!" Foley laughed. No man had ever seen Mr. Baxter lose his self-control; but he was as near losing it now as he had ever been, else he would not have made so weak a rejoinder. "My reputation speaks for my interest," he repeated. "You won't find a man in your union but that'll say I'm the union's friend." Foley laughed again--a harsh, biting laugh. "An' why do they say it, eh? Because I told 'em so. An' youse've got the nerve, Baxter, to sit there an' talk that rot to me!--me, the man that made youse!" "Made me!"