“That will never do,” says Corkey.  “But I’ll tell you what I will do.”

“Go on.”

“Do you know I’ve a notion that Lockwin ain’t goin’ to serve.  If he resigns, I want it.  If he catches on, all right.  I want him or you to get me collector of the port.  You hear me?  Collector of the port.  His nobs, this collector we have now—­he must get out, I don’t care how.  But he must sherry.  I can’t fool with these sailors.  If they see me trading with Lockwin they will swear I sell out.  See?  Well, I want to see Lockwin, just the same.  Now, I’ll tell you what I’ll do:  You Send Lockwin to Washington to explain the situation.  Get in writing what is to be done.  Don’t let there be any foolin’ on that point.  Tell Lockwin to return by the way of Canada, and get to Owen Sound.  I know a way home that will leave us alone for two days or more.  In that time I can tell what I’ll do.”

“All right; Lockwin shall go.”

“I’ll give it out that I’ve gone to Duluth for the newspaper.  But I’ve no use for newspapers no more.  It’s collector or Congress, sure.  Don’t attempt no smart plays.  Tell that to the jam-jorum at Washington.  If they want me to take down my contest and cover up the hole you ballot-box-stuffers is in here at home, let ’em fix me.”

“All right.”

“It’s all right if Lockwin meets me at Owen Sound.  I’ve got the papes to send a lot of you duffers to the pen if you don’t come to time.”

Corkey therefore sails for Duluth.  It increases his standing with the sailors to make these trips late in the year.

Lockwin is to go to Washington.  It is evident, say his friends, that he is greatly exhausted with the efforts of the campaign.  Dr. Tarpion has hinted that Lockwin is not the ambitious man that he has seemed to be.  Dr. Tarpion has hinted that it was only through strong personal influence that Lockwin has been held faithful to the heavy party duty that now lies upon him.

Dr. Tarpion has hinted that Lockwin did not want the office if it did not belong to him.

But Lockwin has had brain fever for nearly a month.  What could you expect of a man who made so many speeches at so many wigwams?

“Besides,” says the political boss, “he had sickness in his family.”

“Some one died, didn’t they?” asks a rounder where these reports are bandied.

“Yes, a little boy.  Good-looking little fellow, too.  I saw him with Lockwin.”

“When I was a young man,” said the boss, “old Sol Wynkoop got in the heat of the canvass, just like Lockwin.  Old Sol was just about as good a speaker.  He would talk right on, making ’em howl every so often.  Well, his wife and his daughter they both died and was buried, and Old Sol he didn’t miss his three dates a day.  He didn’t come home at all.  I had a notion to tell Lockwin that.  Oh, he ain’t no timber for President, or even for senator.  I did tell Lockwin how my wife died.  I got to the funeral, of course, for this is a city, and Old Sol was forty miles away, with muddy roads.  But, boys, when I get tired I just have to go up to the lake and catch bass.  I tell you, politics is hard.  I must find Lockwin right away.  Good-bye, boys.  Charge those drinks to me.”