“Perhaps.  But can you administer it successfully without philanthropy?”

At this Darrow turned with a smile.  “Can’t you see that he is fooling with you?” he said.  “Prison reform is one of his fads—­that and the rights of the indigent aged and orphans and animals and any other mortal thing that has to live on what he calls the stones of charity.  He knows why you came, and he likes you the better because of it.”

“Gershom and I have had a word or two about that board,” resumed Vetch; and as he stopped to strike a match, Stephen noticed that the cigar he held was of a cheap and strong brand.  “Between the Legislature on one side and that bunch of indefatigable lobbyists on the other, I shan’t be permitted presently to appoint the darkey who waits on my table.”  The cigar was lighted now, and to Stephen’s sensitive nostrils the air was rapidly becoming too heavy.  Oddly enough, he reflected, nothing had “placed” Vetch so forcibly as the brand of that cigar.

“That,” observed the young man briefly, “is the penalty of political office.”

“So long as I was merely a dark horse,” said Vetch, “I was afraid to pull on the curb; but now that I’ve won the race, they’ll find that I’m my own master.  Won’t you smoke?”

Stephen shook his head.  “Not now.  There is always the next race to be considered, I suppose.”

The Governor’s rugged, rather heavy features hardened suddenly until they looked as if they were formed of some more durable substance than flesh.  Under the thick sandy hair his eyes lost their blueness and appeared as gray as Stephen had once thought them.  “Have you ever heard,” he asked with biting sarcasm, “that I was easy to manage and that that was why certain people put me in office?”

“Yes, I’ve heard that.”  As the young man replied, Darrow turned from the window and looked at him attentively.

“And may I ask what else you have heard?” inquired Vetch.

Stephen laughed and coloured.  “I’ve heard that it was becoming difficult to do anything with you.”

“Because I have the people behind me?”

“Well, because you think you have the people behind you.”

Vetch leaned forward with a confiding movement, and flicked the ashes of his objectionable cigar on the immaculate sleeve of Stephen’s coat.  Yet, even in the careless gesture, a breath of freshness and health, of mental and physical cleanliness, seemed to emanate like an invigorating breeze from his robust spirit.  “Of course I admit,” he said thoughtfully, “that we are obliged to have some kind of party organization to begin with.  There must be method and policy and all sorts of team-pulling and log-rolling until you get started.  That kind of thing is useful just as far as it helps and not a step farther.  I won my fight as an Independent—­and, by George, I’ll remain an Independent!  I’ve got the upper hand now.  I am strong enough to stand alone.  If any party on earth thinks it can manage me—­well, I’ll show it that I can be my own party!”