He did not give them opportunity to answer.  He swung about and went to Spinney.

“I reckon they’ll raise your guard, now, Arba,” he said, nodding at the stolid and plain men.  “There isn’t much more that you can do, either to harm or help.  You’d better pull a chair out to the edge of the stage there, and listen to what a h—­l of a fellow you are when your orators nominate you.  Then before the applause dies away, you’d better start for home.  It’ll be a good time to get away while Presson is busy!” It was plain that, lacking any other object, the Duke was venting the last of his spleen on this wretched victim of the game.  “Before you go, give me one of those ‘Honest Arba’ ribbons.  I keep a scrap-book of jokes!”

The abject candidate had no word to offer in reply.  He was white and trembling, for after Presson’s early declaration it had seemed that the whole shameful story was to be thundered in the ears of those two thousand men sitting yonder.

“You can suit yourself as to your further movements, Spinney,” said the General, noting the man’s distress.

“There’s a rear exit from this hall,” remarked the Duke, significantly.

Spinney went out, hanging his head.

“Well, there’s at least one cur eliminated from the politics of this State,” blurted Harlan, gratefully.

“Eliminated!” sneered his grandfather.  “The first man you’ll meet in the legislative lobby next winter, sugar on his speech and alum on his finger, so that he can get a good firm grip of your buttonhole, will be Arba Spinney, drawing his salary as the paid agent of half-a-dozen schemers.  He may seem a little wilted just now, but he’s a hardy perennial—­you needn’t worry about him.”

“I think you’re the man to take these documents to the Committee on Resolutions, Thelismer,” stated the General, drawing out the planks he had submitted the evening before.  “You can explain why they should be inserted—­and I have modified them somewhat.  I have no desire to frighten the party at the outset.”

The Duke took the papers, and departed without a word.  The men of the affidavits returned to their delegations on the floor of the convention, gratification in their faces, as well as a sense of the importance of the secret they were guarding.

The band gave a final bellow, and the business of the convention proceeded.

General Waymouth and Harlan took chairs into their little room and sat down to wait.  The sounds came to them mellowed by distance, but distinct.  They followed the procession of events.

Spinney’s name was presented by an up-country spellbinder who had copied logic, diction, and demagogic arguments from his chief.  But all the thrill, swing, and excitement of the Spinney movement were gone.  Red fire, hilarity, and stimulants could not be used to spice this daylight gathering of men ranged in orderly rows on their settees—­and subtle suggestion had already gone abroad.  Yet the undercurrent of opposition to the further dictation by the party ring was shown by the applause that greeted every reference by the speaker to the conditions that existed in the party.  On the text of Spinney, personating Protest, the orator preached to willing converts who clamored for change, even though no better leader than Spinney offered.  Spinney got perfunctory applause; suggested change was cheered tumultuously.