“You mean to say, General Waymouth, that, being a Republican, a man who has had honors from our hands, you’ll advertise your party management as crooks simply because we don’t cut our own throats, politically and financially?”

“I say, I shall state the facts.”

“Let me inform you that I’ve got a little publicity bureau of my own.  I’ll post you as a deserter and a sorehead.  I’ll fix it so you can’t even throw your hat into the Republican party and follow in to get it.  I’ll—­”

“One moment, Luke,” broke in the elder Thornton.  “For some weeks now, when things have come to a crisis, you have set yourself up as the whole Republican party of this State.  But when you get to talking that way you represent it about as much as Parson Prouty represents the real temperance sentiment.  There’s quite a bunch of us who are not in the ramrodding business.  General Waymouth is the nominee of our convention.  No one has delegated to you the job of deciding on his qualifications.  It’s your job to go ahead and elect him.  If you don’t propose to do it, then resign.”

“No, sir!” shouted Presson.

“Then get busy—­collect a campaign fund and make these last three weeks hum!  This is largely a matter between friends, right here now.  I’ve told Vard what I think of him, and I haven’t minced words.  It’s bad enough for a man to try to be absolutely honest in politics.  That’s where he’s making his mistake.  But he can get past with the people—­they’ll think it more or less bluff, anyway, even it’s Varden Waymouth talking.  But the kind of dishonesty you’re standing for, Luke, won’t get past.  They’ll ride you out of this State on a rail—­and I’ll furnish the rail.”

“I’ll furnish something more!” cried Harlan, unable to restrain himself any longer.  “To-morrow morning I shall put ten thousand dollars into General Waymouth’s campaign fund—­my own money.”

“You see, Luke,” drawled the Duke, “it really looks as though Vard would be elected anyway.  I might subscribe a little myself if only I had a rich grandfather, the same as Harlan has.”

The unhappy chairman sat down in his chair again and struggled with his anger.  He could not give it rein—­he realized that.  Party and personal interests were all jeopardized.  But he knew he could not afford to have utter personal disgrace accompany his defeat.  Desertion of the party candidate, if advertised in the fashion the General threatened, meant ruin of his name as well as his fortune.  He could have sulked and excused himself, but there was no excuse for inaction after demand had been made upon him in this fashion.

There was silence in the room.

“Fellow up our way used to be a mighty good mule teamster,” said Thelismer Thornton, tipping his great head back into clasped hands, and gazing meditatively at the ceiling.  “Had a gad for the wheel mules, whip for the swing team, and a pocketful of rocks for the leaders.  One day the rocks gave out just as the wagon sunk into a honey-pot on a March road.  But being a good teamster, he yanked out his pipe and threw it at the nigh leader just at the critical second.  Sparks skated from crupper to mane along the mule’s back, and he gave a snort and a heave, and away they went.”