Never, Stephen thought, had Benham, appeared more impressive, more perfectly finished and turned out; never had he appeared so near to his tailor and so far from his audience.  He was a handsome man in his rather colourless fashion, a man who would look any part with distinction from policeman to President.  His sleek iron-gray hair had as usual the rich sheen of velvet; his thin, sharp profile was like the face on a Roman coin.  A man of power, of intellect, of character; and yet a man who had missed, in some inexplicable way, greatness, achievement.  On the whole Stephen was glad that Corinna had announced her engagement.  She and Benham seemed so perfectly suited to each other—­and, of course, there was nothing in that old story about Alice Rokeby.  A friendship, nothing more!  Only the other day Benham had spoken casually of his “friendship” for Mrs. Rokeby; he always called her “Mrs. Rokeby”; and Stephen had accepted the phrase as a satisfactory explanation of their past association.

“I’d like to go into some public work,” said the young man.  “To tell the truth I can’t settle down.”

“I know,” Benham responded sympathetically.  “I went through it all myself; but there is nothing like throwing oneself into some outside work.  I wish you would come into this fight.  If we can avert this strike it will be worth any sacrifice.”

That Benham was making tremendous personal sacrifices, Stephen knew, and the young man’s voice was tinged with emotion as he answered, “I’m afraid I’m not much of a speaker.”

“Oh, you would be, if you would only let yourself go.”  There it was again!  Even Benham recognized his weakness; even Benham knew that he was afraid of life.

“Besides we need men of every type,” Benham was saying smoothly.  “We need especially good organizers.  The fight won’t be over to-morrow.  Even if we win this time, we must organize against Vetch and defeat him once and for all in the next elections.”

“Then you think he is really as dangerous as the papers are trying to make him appear?”

“I think,” Benham replied shortly, “that he is in it for what he can get out of it.”

“Well, call on me when I can help you,” said Stephen, as they parted; and a minute later when he reached the pavement, he found occasion to repeat his impulsive offer to Judge Horatio Lancaster Page.

“I’ve promised Benham that I’ll do all I can to help him defeat Vetch.”

“You’re right,” returned the Judge, with his smile of discerning irony.  “I suppose we’re obliged to fight him.”

“If we don’t what will happen?”

“That’s what I’d like to see, my boy.  I’d give ten years full measure and running over to see exactly what would happen.”

“Benham is afraid his crowd may send him to the Senate.”

“Perhaps, but there is always a chance of their sending him to Jericho instead.”

Stephen nodded.  “Yes, there’s trouble already, I believe, over this strike.”