“Why, it’s this way,” said he, slowly.  “I—­hear things.  A bit here and there, you see, as folks tell me.  I put what I’ve heard together, and think it over.  Of course I didn’t need anybody to tell me Inglesby was sore because the Clarion got away from him.  He expected it to die.  It didn’t.  He thought it wouldn’t pay expenses—­well, the sheriff isn’t in charge yet.  And he knows the paper is growing.  He’s too wise a guy to let on he’s been stung for fair, once in his life, but he don’t propose to let himself in for any more body blows than he can help.  So he looks about a bit and he gets him an agent—­older than you, Mayne, but young enough, too—­and even better looking.  That agent will be everywhere pretty soon.  The town will fall for him.  Say, how many of you folks know what Inglesby really wants, anyhow?”

“Everything in sight,” said Laurence promptly.

“And something around the corner, too.  He wants to come out in the open and be IT.  He intends to be a big noise in Washington.  Gentlemen, Senator Inglesby!  Well, why not?”

“He hasn’t said so, has he?” Laurence was skeptical.

“He doesn’t have to say so.  He means to be it, and that’s very much more to the point.  However, it happens that he did peep, once or twice, and it buzzed about a bit—­and that’s how I happened to catch it in my net.  This Johnny he’s just got to help him is the first move.  Private Secretary now.  Campaign manager and press agent, later.  Inglesby’s getting ready to march on to Washington.  You watch him do it!”

“Never!” said Laurence, and set his mouth.

“No?” The Butterfly Man lifted his eyebrows.  “Well, what are you going to do about it?  Fight him with your pretty little Clarion?  It’s not big enough, though you could make it a handy sort of brick to paste him in the eye with, if you aim straight and pitch hard enough.  Go up against him yourself?  You’re not strong enough, either, young man, whatever you may be later on.  You can prod him into firing some poor kids from his mills—­but you can’t make him feed ’em after he’s fired ’em, can you?  And you can’t keep him from becoming Senator Inglesby either, unless,” he paused impressively, “you can match him even with a man his money and pull can’t beat.  Now think.”

The young man bit his lip and frowned.  The Butterfly Man watched him quizzically through his glasses.

“Don’t take it so hard,” he grinned.  “And don’t let the whole salvation of South Carolina hang too heavy on your shoulders.  Leave something to God Almighty—­He managed to pull the cocky little brute through worse and tougher situations than Inglesby!  Also, He ran the rest of the world for a few years before you and I got here to help Him with it.”

“You’re a cocky brute yourself,” said Laurence, critically.

“I can afford to be, because I can open my hand this minute and show you the button.  Why, the very man you need is right in your reach!  If you could get him to put up his name against Inglesby’s, the Big Un wouldn’t be in it.”