“Well,” he ejaculated, “damn it all, why not?”

Harwood did not know why not; but a man as rich as Edward Thatcher was entitled to his vagaries.  Thatcher sank into Bassett’s swivel chair and swung round once or twice as though testing it, meanwhile eyeing the map.  Then he tipped himself back comfortably and dropped his hat into his lap.  His grayish brown hair was combed carefully from one side across the top in an unsuccessful attempt to conceal his baldness.

“I guess Mort wouldn’t object to my sitting in his chair provided I didn’t look at that map too much.  Who was the chap that the sword hung over by a hair—­Damocles?  Well, maybe that’s what that map is—­it would smash pretty hard if the whole state fell down on Mort.  But Mort knows just how many voters there are in every township and just how they line up election morning.  There’s a lot of brains in Bassett’s head; you’ve noticed it?”

“It’s admitted, I believe, that he’s a man of ability,” said Dan a little coldly.

Thatcher grinned.

“You’re all right, Harwood.  I know you’re all right or Mort wouldn’t have put you in here.  I’m rather kicking myself that I didn’t see you first.”

“Mr. Bassett has given me a chance I’d begun to fear I shouldn’t get; you see I’m studying law here.  Mr. Bassett has made that possible.  He’s the best friend I ever had.”

“That’s good.  Bassett usually picks winners.  From what I hear of you and what I’ve seen I think you’re all right myself.  My boy has taken quite a great fancy to you.”

Thatcher looked at the end of his cigar and waited for Dan to reply.

“I’ve grown very fond of Allen.  He’s very unusual; he’s full of surprises.”

“That boy,” said Thatcher, pointing his cigar at Dan, “is the greatest boy in the world; but, damn it all, I don’t make him out.”

“Well, he’s different; he’s an idealist.  I’m not sure that he isn’t a philosopher!”

Thatcher nodded, as though this were a corroboration of his own surmises.

“He has a lot of ideas that are what they call advanced, but it’s not for me to say that he isn’t right about them.  He talks nonsense some of the time, but occasionally he knocks me down with a big idea—­or his way of putting a big idea.  He doesn’t understand a good deal that he sees; and yet he sometimes says something perfectly staggering.”

“He does; by George, he does!  Damn it, I took him to see a glassworks the other day; thought it would appeal to his sense of what you call the picturesque; but, Lord bless me, he asked how much the blowers were paid and wanted me to raise their pay on the spot.  That was one on me, all right; I’d thought of giving him the works to play with, but I didn’t have the nerve to offer it to him after that.  ’Fraid he’d either turn it down or take it and bust me.”