“And yet you know that General Waymouth is right, Mr. Thornton,” broke in Linton, pausing in lacing his shoes.  “There’s no chance for argument about that.  Why is it the big men of this State—­men like you, that have the influence to set things straight—­won’t back the man that’s honest and right?”

“Linton, that’s the kind of a question that’s asked by the man whose experience in practical politics is limited to a term on the School Board and the ownership of a subscription edition of American Statesmen, bound in half morocco.  I’ll tell you why we don’t:  we’re dealing with conditions, not theories.  The chap who writes for the ‘Kickers’ Column’ in the newspapers can tell you all about how politics should be run, but that’s the only privilege he ever gets.  It’s the chap who keeps still and runs the politics that gets what’s to be got out of it.  And that’s because mankind wants what it wants, and not what it says it wants.”

He went to the window, snapped up the shade, and let the morning light flood the room.

“Wake up, my boys!  Dreams are rosy—­I’ve had ’em myself.  But they don’t buy the breakfast next morning.  Martyrs get a devil of a reputation after they’re dead.  It doesn’t do ’em a mite of good, not as human beings.  As long as you’re taking the curse that belongs with a human being, get some of the good, too.  I tried to operate on a different plan long ago—­about the time I had the dreams—­but I had to give it up if I was to get anything out of life.  Vard Waymouth can’t build over the human nature in this State.  I’ve had to drop him.  I hadn’t realized he was in such a bad way.  Get aboard with the winners this trip!  Then at least you can be in the swim—­you can find some good to do on the side, and be able to do it.  But you won’t amount to anything sitting on the bank and bellowing.”

The vigils of the night had fortified their faith, the loyalty of youth was in them, and they were the disciples of one who had enlisted their enthusiasm.  Linton, however, was less assertive than Harlan.  The Duke did not lose his patience.

“Boys,” he said, at the end of his exhortations, “I see that you’ve got to have your little lesson (I’ll have to be going now, for I’ve a few things to attend to), and I’ll tell you frankly I propose to make that lesson a lasting one.”

A few hours later the young men went in to breakfast together.  The early trains had brought other delegates and visitors.  The great room was crowded with a chattering throng.  The head waiter intercepted them; he seemed to be waiting for them.  They followed obediently, and he led them to an alcove.

Here a breakfast-party was already installed.

Miss Presson was first to greet them, giving a hand to each—­radiant, fresh, and altogether charming in her tailored perfection.

“We left word at the door,” she smiled, “for I wanted to behold you before the blood and dust of the arena settled over all.”