out talking, it divided talking; still talking, it swept, a roaring sea of flesh, into the far-off buzz of the distance.  In a group of three men passing into the lobby of the largest hotel, there was a slender man of fifty years, with a well-knit figure, half closed, indifferent eyes, and an emphatic mouth.  In the insistent hum of words about him, his voice sounded in a brisk utterance that carried a hint of important issues.

“Oh, I don’t think Hartley’s much account,” he was saying.  “I’d bet on a close shave between Webb and Crutchfield, with Webb in the lead.  Small will get the lieutenant-governorship, of course.  Davis ought to be attorney-general, but he’ll be beaten by Wray.  It’s the party reward.  Davis is the better lawyer, by long odds, but Wray has stuck to the party like a burr—­I don’t mean a pun, if you please.”

The younger of his two companions, a spirited youth with high-standing auburn hair, laughed uproariously.

“The trouble is they’re afraid Burr won’t stick to the party,” he protested.  “Major Simms, who is marshalling Crutchfield’s forces, you know, said to me last night—­’Oh, Burr’s all right when you let him lead, but he’s damned mulish if you begin to pull the other way.’”

The third man, a sunburned farmer, with a dogged mouth overhung by a tobacco-stained mustache, assented with a nod.

“There’s not a better Democrat in Virginia than Nick Burr,” he said.  “If the party’s got anything against him it had better out with it at once.  He made the most successful chairman the State ever had—­and he’s honest—­there’s not a more honest man in politics or out.”

“Oh, I know all that,” broke in the auburn-haired young fellow, whose name was Dickson; “I’d back Burr against any candidate in the field, and I’m sorry he kept out of it.  I hoped he’d come forward with you to manage his campaign, Mr. Galt,” he said to the first speaker.

Galt waived the remark.

“Perhaps he thought his chances too slim for a walkover,” he said in non-committal fashion, as Burr’s best friend.  “I hear, by the way, that the delegation from his old home is instructed to vote for him on the first ballot, whether or not.”

“He has a great name down in my parts,” put in the farmer.  “The people think he has the agricultural interests at heart.  They wanted to send him to Congress in Webb’s place, you know.”

“Yes, I know,” said Galt.  “Hello, Bassett,” as Tom Bassett joined him.  “Where’ve you been?  Lost sight of you this morning.”

“Oh, I was out with the Committee on Credentials.  A member?  I should say not.  I wanted to hear that Madison County case, so I got made sergeant-at-arms.  By the way, Dick,” to Dickson, “I hear you held the floor for five minutes this morning and got off five distinct stories that landed with Columbus.”

“Nonsense.  I didn’t open my mouth—­except to call ‘time’ on the men who did.  There’s our orator now.”