Independently of the struggle in progress between Thatcher and Bassett, it was quite likely that the Bassetts would look askance at the idea of a union between their daughter and Edward Thatcher’s son, no matter what might be said in Allen’s favor.  Bassett’s social acceptance was fairly complete, and he enjoyed meeting men of distinction.  He was invariably welcomed to the feasts of reason we are always, in our capital, proffering to the great and good of all lands who pause for enlightenment and inspiration in our empurpled Athens.  He was never ignored in the choice of those frock-coated and silk-hatted non-partisan committees that meet all trains at the Union Station, and quadrennially welcome home our eternal candidates for the joyous office of Vice-President of the Republic.  He kept his dress suit packed for flight at Fraserville free of that delicate scent of camphor that sweetens the air of provincial festivals.  Thatcher never, to the righteous, sensitive, local consciousness, wholly escaped from the maltster’s taint, in itself horrible and shocking; nor did his patronage of budding genius in the prize ring, or his adventures (often noisily heralded) as a financial pillar of comic opera, tend to change or hide the leopard’s spots in a community where the Ten Commandments haven’t yet been declared unconstitutional, save by plumbers and paperhangers.  Women who had never in their lives seen Mrs. Thatcher admired her for remaining in exile; they knew she must be (delectable phrase!) a good woman.

“You know dad has had an awful lonely time of it, Dan, and if he has done things that haven’t sounded nice, he’s as sorry as anybody could ask.  You know dad never made a cent in his life at poker, and his horses have come near busting him lots of times.  And sentiment against breweries over here would astonish people abroad.  It’s that old Puritan strain, you know.  You understand all that, Dan.”

Dan grinned in spite of himself.  It was hardly less than funny to attempt a defense of Ed Thatcher by invoking the shades of the Puritans.  But Thatcher did love his boy, and Dan had always given him full credit for that.

“Never mind the breweries; tell me the rest of it.”

“Well,” Allen continued, “dad always tells me everything, and when I spoke of Marian he told me a lot of things.  He wants to put Bassett out of business and go to the Senate.  Dad’s set his heart on that.  I didn’t know that any man could hate another as he hates Bassett.  That business in the state convention cut him deep;—­no, don’t you say a word!  Dad hasn’t any feeling against you; he thinks you’re a fine fellow, and he likes to feel that when you quit Bassett you put yourself on his side.  Maybe he’s wrong, but just for my sake I want you to let him think so.  But he’s got it in for Bassett; he’s got his guns all loaded and primed.  Dad’s deeper than you think.  They used to say that dad was only second fiddle to Bassett, but you’ll see that dad knows a thing or two.”