In the lobby was the same bee-buzzing crowd with which he had been contending all day, and he edged his way through it to the elevator, praying that he might go unrecognized—­as he did.  Once safe in his rooms he sent for Loring, stretching himself on the bed in a very ecstasy of relaxation until the ex-manager came up.  Then he emptied his mind as an overladen ass spills its panniers.

“I’m done, Grantham,” he said; “and that is more different kinds of truth than you have heard in a week.  Go and reorganize your management, and M’Tosh is the man to put in Halkett’s place.  The strike will be declared off at the mere mention of your name and his.  That’s all.  Now go away and let me sleep.”

“Oh, hold on!” was the good-natured protest; “I’m not more curious than I have to be, but I’d like to know how it was done.”

“I don’t know, myself; and that’s the plain fact.  But I suspect Marston fell upon Judge MacFarlane:  gave him a wire hint of what was due to arrive if he didn’t give us a clean bill of health.  I had my preliminary interview with the governor at daybreak this morning; and I was with him again between nine and ten.  He went over the original papers with me, and about all he said was, ’Be in Gaston by two o’clock this afternoon, and MacFarlane will give you the hearing in chambers.’  I went on my knees to the Federative Council to get a train.”

“You shouldn’t have had any trouble there.”

“I didn’t have, after the men understood what was in the wind.  Jarl Oleson took me down and brought me back.  The council did it handsomely, dipping into its treasury and paying the mileage on a Pullman car.”

“And MacFarlane reversed his own order?”

“Without a question.  It was the merest formality.  Jennison, Hawk’s former law partner, stood for the other side; but he made no argument.”

“Good!” said Loring.  “That will do for the day’s work.  But now I’d like to know how last night’s job was managed.”

“I’m afraid you want to know more than is good for you.  What do the papers say?  I haven’t looked at one all day.”

“They say there was a misunderstanding of orders.  That will answer for the public, perhaps, but it won’t do for me.”

“I guess it will have to do for you, too, Grantham,” said Kent, yawning shamelessly.  “Five men, besides myself—­six of us in all—­know the true inwardness of last night’s round-up.  There will never be a seventh.”

Loring’s eye-glasses fell from his nose, and he was smiling shrewdly when he replaced them.

“There is one small consequence that doesn’t please you, I’m sure.  You’ll have to bury the hatchet with MacFarlane.”

“Shall I?” flashed Kent, sitting up as if he had been struck with a whip.  “Let me tell you:  Marston is going to call an extra session of the Assembly.  There is a death vacancy in this district, and I shall be a candidate in the special election.  If there is no other way to get at MacFarlane, he shall be impeached!”