“The name of ‘Duke’ fits you all right,” piped Niles from a safe distance.  “This is a dynasty and I’ve said it was, and now you’re showing the cloven foot!”

Thornton disdained to reply.  He continued to walk about among them.  “They’re trying to work you, boys,” he went on.  “I heard they were conniving to do business in this district, but I haven’t insulted you by paying any attention to rumors.  I want you to go down to that caucus this afternoon and vote for Harlan.  You all know him.  I’m an old man, and I want to see him started right before I get done.  You all know what the Thorntons have done for you—­and what they can do.  I don’t propose to see you swap horses while you’re crossing the river.”

But they did not rally in the good old way.  There was something the matter with them.  Those who dared to meet his gaze scowled.  Those who looked away from him kept their eyes averted as though they were afraid to show their new faith.  They had dared to march up to him behind Niles and his buck sheep, masking revolt under their grins.  But Thornton realized that whoever had infected them had used the poison well.  They had come to laugh; they remained to sulk.  And they who had baited him with the unspeakable Niles understood their business when dealing with such an old lion as he.

“You need a guardian, you fellows,” he said, contemptuously.  “Your mutton marshal just fits you.  But I’m going to keep you from buying the gold brick in politics you’re reaching for now.”

“Wouldn’t it be a good idea, Squire Thornton, to let us run our own business awhile?  You’ve done it for fifty years.”  It was still another of the rebels that spoke.

“If you had come to me like men, instead of playing hoodlums behind a lunatic and a sheep, I would have talked to you as men.  But I say again you need a guardian.”

“We won’t vote for you nor none you name.  We’ve been woke up.”

The old man threw up both his hands and cracked his fingers into his palms.  “And you’re ready to take pap and paregoric from the first that come along, you infants!”

“You’re showing yourself now, Duke Thornton!” shouted Niles.  “You’ve used us like you’d use school-boys for fifty years, but you ain’t dared to brag of it till now!”

Thornton strode out from among them.  He tossed his big arms as though ridding himself of annoying insects.  He had been stung out of self-control.  It was not that he felt contempt for his people.  He had always felt for them that sense of protection one assumes who has taken office from voters’ hands for many years, has begged appropriations from the State treasury for them, has taken in hand their public affairs and administered them without bothering to ask advice.  He realized all at once that jealousy and ingratitude must have been in their hearts for a long time.  Now some influence had made them bold enough to display their feelings.  Thornton had seen that sort of revolt many times before in the case of his friends in the public service.  He had always felt pride in the belief that his own people were different—­that his hold on them was that of the patriarch whom they loved and trusted.