In the rush of the sessions of the Anti-Trust conference he had had no time to keep his promise to Martha.  Once only had he sent her a note telling her of his safe arrival in the city.  It had not occurred to him that she would be anxiously awaiting a letter from him containing his views on the results of the conference.  Why should a woman be interested in such matters?

It is with unbounded surprise therefore that he receives the following letter from her: 

  Wilkes-Barre, June 13.
  My Dear Friend:

It has been so long since I have heard from you that I take the initiative and write to ask you to forward to me as soon as possible, an article embodying your views on the recent Anti-Trust conference.  I have a special reason for wishing this before the assembling of the Independence convention.  To be frank with you, I have a premonition that you will be honored with the nomination for the Vice-presidency.  Your friends in Pennsylvania, and in the other Eastern states, are working for you.  I am handicapped by being a woman, yet in some ways it has proven advantageous to me.

By my peculiar intimacy with the families of this district, I became acquainted with the fact that your name is being mentioned as a possible candidate for the office.  As soon as I learned this, I set to work to ‘boom,’ as the politicians would say, the incipient movement.  Last night I was assured by O’Connor, the local leader, that you were sure of the support of the delegations of Pennsylvania and New York.  For this reason I can wait no longer for a letter from you.

  Let me know at once if you look favorably on the proposition
  of being a candidate for the high office.

  Are you a member of the Committee of Forty?  And what
  is this body?

  As ever your friend,

  Martha.

Here is a revelation.

Unknown to him, his friends, and especially Martha, are at work planning for his nomination as a candidate for the office of Vice-president.  The idea of his achieving such a success has never entered his mind.

How can an unknown delegate hope to receive the support of the convention.  It seems unreasonable, and he is on the point of writing to Martha that the effort could not help but end in a ridiculous farce, when an interruption prevents him from doing so.  A card is brought to his room.  It bears the simple inscription: 

A friend.

“Invite the person up,” Trueman tells the servant.

The apartments he occupies are in a quiet boarding house on Lincoln Avenue.  He has been in the house six weeks, during which time no one has ever called to see him.

A minute passes in which he ransacks his mind in an attempt to think who can have any business with him.  It is half-past eight at night.

A loud rap at the door announces the visitor.