“That’s a new scheme they say Morton has introduced into Indiana—­this getting men on both sides to vote for one of these bad bills.  That shuts up the party newspapers, and neither side can use that particular thing as ammunition at the next election.  Instead of talking about House Bill Ninety-five in the next campaign, they will howl about the tariff on champagne, or pensions for veterans of the Black Hawk War.  They’re all tarred with the same stick and don’t dare call attention to the other fellow.  Daniel had better get out of politics,” she ended leadingly.

“Please, no!  He’d better stay in and learn how to make himself count.  So far as Mr. Bassett is concerned, I think that for some reason he had gone as far with Dan as he cared to.  I think he was prepared for the break.”

Mrs. Owen was wiping her spectacles on a piece of chamois skin she kept in her desk for the purpose, and she concluded this rite with unusual deliberation.

“How do you figure that out, Sylvia?”

“This must be confidential, Aunt Sally; I have said nothing to Dan about it; but the night of your party Mr. Bassett was in a curious frame of mind.”

“It seemed to me he was particularly cheerful.  I thought Morton had as good a time as anybody.”

“Superficially, yes; but I had a long talk with him—­in the hall, after the dancing had begun.  I think in spite of his apparent indifference to the constant fire of his enemies, it has had an effect on him.  He’s hardened—­or, if he was always hard, he doesn’t care any longer whether he wears the velvet glove or not.  That attack on Mr. Thatcher in the convention illustrates what I mean.  His self-control isn’t as complete as most people seem to think it is; he lets go of himself like a petulant child.  That must be a new development in him.  It doesn’t chime with the other things you hear of him as a shrewd, calculating manager, who strikes his enemies in the dark.  He was in an evil humor that night or he wouldn’t have talked to me as he did.  He was ugly and vindictive.  He was not only glad he had put Dan in the way of temptation, but he wanted me to know that he had done it.  He seemed to be setting his back to the wall and daring the world.”

“Well, well,” said Mrs. Owen.  “Morton has seemed a little uneasy lately.  But there don’t seem to be any reason why he should have picked you out to jump on.  You never did anything to Morton.”

“Yes,” said Sylvia, smiling; “I laughed at him once!  I laughed at him about the way he had treated Mr. Thatcher.  We stopped right there, with the laugh; he laughed too, you know.  And he took that up again at the party—­and I had to explain what my laugh meant.”

“Oh, you explained it, did you?”

And Sylvia recounted the interview.

“I guess Morton hasn’t been laughed at much, and that was why he remembered it and wanted to talk to you again.  I suspect that Hallie scolds him when she doesn’t pet him.  Most folks are afraid of Morton; that’s why he could take care of that corporation bill with the ‘Advertiser’ jumping him the way it did.  Well, well!  That must have been quite a day for Morton.  You laughed at him, and when the rest of you went off in Allen’s automobile that night I ran the harrow over him a few times myself.  Well, well!”