In the weeks that intervened between his interview with Harwood in the upper room of the Whitcomb and the primaries, Bassett had quietly visited every congressional district, holding conferences and perfecting his plans.  “Never before,” said the “Advertiser,” “had Morton Bassett’s pernicious activity been so marked.”  The belief had grown that the senator from Fraser was in imminent peril; in the Republican camp it was thought that while Thatcher might not control the convention he would prove himself strong enough to shake the faith of many of Bassett’s followers in the power of their chief.  There had been, apparently, a hot contest at the primaries.  In the northern part of the state, in a region long recognized as Bassett’s stronghold, Thatcher had won easily; at the capital the contestants had broken even, a result attributable to Thatcher’s residence in the county.  The word had passed among the faithful that Thatcher money was plentiful, and that it was not only available in this preliminary skirmish, but that those who attached themselves to Thatcher early were to enjoy his bounty throughout his campaign—­which might be protracted—­for the senatorship.  Bassett was not scattering largess; it was whispered that the money he had used previously in politics had come out of Thatcher’s pocket and that he would have less to spend in future.

Bassett, in keeping with his forecast to Harwood, had made a point of having many new men, whose faces were unfamiliar in state conventions, chosen at the primaries he controlled, so that in a superficial view of the convention the complexion of a considerable body of the delegates was neutral.  Here and there among the delegations sat men who knew precisely Bassett’s plans and wishes.  The day following the primaries, Bassett, closeted with Harwood in his room at the Boordman Building, had run the point of a walking-stick across every county in the state, reciting from memory just how many delegates he absolutely controlled, those he could get easily if he should by any chance need them, and the number of undoubted Thatcher men there were to reckon with.  In Dan’s own mingling with the crowd at the Whitcomb the night before the convention he had learned nothing to shake his faith in Bassett’s calculations.

The Honorable Isaac Pettit, of Fraser, was one of the most noteworthy figures on the floor.  Had he not thrown off the Bassett yoke and trampled the lord of Fraser County underfoot?  Did not the opposition press applaud the editor for so courageously wresting from the despicable chieftain the control of a county long inured to slavery?  Verily, the Honorable Isaac had done much to encourage belief in the guileless that such were the facts.  Even the “Courier” proved its sturdy independence by printing the result of the primary without extenuation or aught set down in malice.  The Honorable Isaac Pettit undoubtedly believed in himself as the savior of Fraser.  He had personally led the fight in the Fraser County primaries and had vanquished Bassett!  “Bassett had fought gamely,” the Republican organ averred, to make more glorious the Honorable Isaac’s victory.  It was almost inconceivable, they said, that Bassett, who had dominated his party for years, should not be able to elect himself a delegate to a state convention.