As he opened the gate he saw old Caesar bending above the mint bed, and he went over to him.

“Dar ain’ nuttin better ter jedge er gent’mun by den his mint patch,” the old negro was muttering, “an’ dis yer one’s done w’ar out all dose no ‘count flow’rs, des’ like de quality done w’ar out de trash.  Hi!  Marse Nick, dat you?” he shook the proffered hand, his kindly black face wrinkling with hospitality.  “Marse George hev got de swelled foot,” he said in answer to a question, “an’ he ain’ tech his julep sence de day befo’ yestiddy.  Dis yer’s fur you,” he added, looking at the bunch in his hand.

“You’re a trump, Caesar!” exclaimed Nicholas as he ascended the steps and entered the wide hall, through which a light breeze was blowing.

The library door was open and he went in softly, lightening instinctively his heavy tread.  The judge was sitting in his great arm-chair, his white head resting against the cushioned back, his bandaged foot on a high footstool.

“Is it you, my boy?” he asked, without turning.

Nicholas crossed the room and gripped the outstretched hand which trembled slightly in the air, the usual rugged composure of his face giving place to frank tenderness.

“I’m sorry to see the gout’s troubling you again,” he said.

The judge laughed and motioned to a chair beside his desk.  His fine dark eyes were as bright as ever, and there was a youthful ring in his voice.

“I’m paying for my pleasures like the rest of us,” he responded.  “The truth is, Caesar makes me live too high, the rascal—­and I go on a bread-and-milk diet once in a while to spite him.”  Then his tone changed; he pushed aside a slender vase of “safrano” roses which shadowed Nicholas’s face and regarded him with genuine delight.  “It’s good news you bring me,” he exclaimed.  “I haven’t had such news since they told me the Democratic Party had wiped out Mahonism.  And it was a surprise.  We thought Dudley Webb was too secure for the chances of the ‘dark horse.’  Well, well, I’m sorry for Dudley, though I’m glad for you.  How did you do it?”

Nicholas laughed, but his face was grave.  “Ben Galt says I worked up a political ‘revival,’” he replied.  “He declares my methods were for all the world the counterpart of those employed in a Methodist camp meeting, but he’s joking, of course.  It was a distinct surprise to me, as you know.  I had declined to offer myself as a candidate for the nomination, because I believed Webb to be assured of victory.  However, the Crutchfield party proved stronger than we supposed, and they came over to my side.  I was the ‘dark horse,’ as you say.”

“It’s very good,” commented the judge.  “Very good.”

“Galt is afraid that what he calls ‘the political change of heart’ won’t last,” Nicholas went on, “but he knows, as I know, that I am the choice of the people and that, though a few of the leaders may distrust me, the Democratic Party as a body has entire confidence in me.  You will understand that, had I doubted that the decision was free and untrammelled, I should not have accepted the nomination.”