Kennedy had been combining things spiritual and aqueous at his wash-stand.  But his interest in the blending seemed suddenly to cease.  Maguire, too, took his thumbs from their havens of rest, and looked dissatisfied.

“Look here, Mr. Stirling,” he said, “it’s much simpler to leave it to Kennedy.  You think you’re doing what’s right, but you’ll only do harm to us, and to yourself.  If you nominate Porter, the city gang won’t forgive you, and unless you can say what we want said, we shall be down on you.  So you’ll break with both sides.”

“I think that is so.  That is why I want some real friend of Porter’s to do it.”

Maguire laughed rather a forced laugh.  “I suppose we’ve got to satisfy you.  We’ll have Porter nominated by one of our own crowd.”

“I think that’s best.  Good-evening.”  Peter went to the door.

“Mr. Stirling,” called Kennedy.  “Won’t you stay and take some whisky and water with us?”

“Thank you,” said Peter.  “Mr. Costell’s in my room and he must be tired of waiting.”  He closed the door, and walked away.

The couple looked at each other blankly for a moment.

“The ——­ cuss is playing a double game,” Maguire gasped.

“I don’t know what it means!” said Kennedy.

“Mean?” cried Maguire.  “It can mean only one thing.  He’s acting under Costell’s orders.”

“But why should he give it away to us?”

“How the ——­ should I know?  Look here, Kennedy, you must do it, after all.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Tut, tut, man, you must.”

“But my ward?”

“Come.  We’ll make it quarantine, as you want.  That’s six years, and you can ——­ your ward.”

“I’ll do it.”

“That’s the talk.”

They sat and discussed plans and whisky for nearly an hour.  Then Maguire said good-night.

“You shall have the speech the first thing in the morning,” he said at parting.  Then as he walked down the long corridor, he muttered, “Now then, Stirling, look out for the hind heel of the mule.”

Peter found Costell still waiting for him.

“It took me longer than I thought, for Maguire was there.”

“Indeed!” said Costell, making room for Peter on the window-ledge.

Peter re-lit his cigar, “Maguire promises me that Porter shall be nominated by one of his friends.”

“He had been trying Kennedy?”

“I didn’t ask.”

Costell smiled.  “I had no business to ask you that?”

“No,” Peter said frankly.

Both puffed their cigars for a time in silence.

Then Costell began talking about Saratoga.  He told Peter where the
“Congress” spring was, and what was worth seeing.  Finally he rose to go. 
He held out his hand, and said: 

“Mr. Stirling, you’ve been as true as steel with us, and with the other men.  I don’t want you to suppose we are not conscious of it.  I think you’ve done us a great service to-night, although it might have been very profitable to you if you had done otherwise.  I don’t think that you’ll lose by it in the long run, but I’m going to thank you now, for myself.  Good-night.”