Sylvia had singled out several figures in the drama enacting below for special attention.  The chairman had interested her by reason of his attitude of scrupulous fairness, in which she now saw the transparent irony; the banalities of the temporary chairman had touched her humor; she watched him for the rest of the morning with a kind of awe that any one could he so dull, so timorous, and yet be chosen to address nearly two thousand American citizens on an occasion of importance.  She was unable to reconcile Thatcher’s bald head, ruddy neck, and heavy shoulders with Marian’s description of the rich man’s son, who dreamed of heroes and played at carpentry.  Dan’s speech had not been without its thrill for her, and she now realized its significance.  It had been a part of a trick, and in spite of herself she could not share the admiration Colonel Ramsay was expressing for Harwood’s share in it.  He was immeasurably superior to the majority of those about him in the crowded hall; he was a man of education, a college man, and she had just experienced in her own life that consecration, as by an apostolic laying-on of hands, by which a college confers its honors and imposes its obligations upon those who have enjoyed its ministry.  Yet Harwood, who had not struck her as weak or frivolous, had lent himself to-day to a bit of cheap claptrap merely to humble one man for the glorification of another.  Bassett she had sincerely liked in their one meeting at Waupegan; and yet this was of his plotting and Harwood was his mouthpiece and tool.  It did not seem fair to take advantage of such supreme stupidity as Thatcher’s supporters had manifested.  Her disappointment in Harwood—­and it was quite that—­was part of her general disappointment in the methods by which men transacted the serious business of governing themselves.

Harwood was conscious that he was one of the chief figures in the convention; every one knew him now; he was called here and there on the floor, by men anxious to impress themselves upon Bassett’s authorized spokesman.  It is a fine thing at twenty-seven to find the doors of opportunity flung wide—­and had he not crossed the threshold and passed within the portal?  He was Bassett’s man; every one knew that now; but why should he not be Bassett’s man?  He would go higher and farther than Bassett:  Bassett had merely supplied the ladder on which he would climb.  He was happier than he had ever been before in his life; he had experienced the intoxication of applause, and he was not averse to the glances of the women in the gallery above him.

The nomination of candidates now went forward rather tamely, though relieved by occasional sharp contests.  The ten gentlemen who had been favored with copies of the Bassett programme were not surprised that so many of Thatcher’s friends were nominated; they themselves voted for most of them.  It seemed remarkable to the uninitiated that Bassett should have slapped Thatcher and then have allowed him to score in the choice of the ticket.  The “Advertiser,” anxious to show Bassett as strong and malignant as possible, expressed the opinion that the Fraserville boss had not after all appreciated the full force of the Thatcher movement.