“Now, Mr. Evan Anarchist Blount!” said Gantry, apostrophizing the late disturber of his peace, “now we’ll find out just where we’re at and how big a rope it’s going to take to snub you down,” and thereupon the desk buzzer rattled again, and Mr. Richard Gantry squared himself for his forenoon’s work.

At the moment of his apostrophizing Blount was opening his mail in the Temple Court office, and lamenting, as a loyal friend might, the necessity for the recent clubbing into line of so fine a fellow as Dick Gantry.  But the mail-opening plunged him once more into the political actualities.  There were letters from all over the State, and among them three invitations from widely separated cities, all based upon the newspaper reports of his Ophir speech.  It seemed to be plainly evident that the “campaign-of-education” idea was striking a popular chord, and the proponent of the idea saw what a miraculous opportunity was offering for the railroad if only the “powers” that Gantry had refused to name were broad enough and high-minded enough to seize it.

After a day and an evening well filled with detail, Blount went to the station to take the nine-thirty west-bound, since the first of the three speaking engagements—­all of which had been promptly accepted by wire—­lay in that direction.  On the platform, whither he went to consult the bulletin-board, he found Gantry.

“Your train is half an hour late,” said the traffic man, with a glance for the travelling-bag in Blount’s hand.  “Didn’t they know enough at the hotel to tell you about it?”

“They told me it was on time,” said the putative traveller, and he was far enough from suspecting that Gantry himself had arranged to have the inaccurate information given across the counter at the Inter-Mountain, so that he might be sure of an uninterrupted half-hour with Blount before he should leave the city.

“Ump!” said the traffic manager, “I’ve got to wait for it, too.  One of my men is coming in on it.  Let’s go up to the office.  It’s pleasanter there.”

Together they climbed the stair to the second floor of the station building, and Gantry unlocked the door of his private room and turned on the lights.

“Feeling any more humane than you did this morning?” he inquired genially, after he had opened his desk and found a box of cigars.

“I haven’t been feeling otherwise since—­well, let’s say since midnight last night,” countered Blount laughing.

“Why midnight?”

“That was about the time when I made up my mind definitely to stay in the fight.”

“Then you are still meaning to go ahead on the lines you laid down this morning?”

“If I wasn’t, I shouldn’t be here to take the train for the rally at Angora to-morrow night.”

Gantry smoked in silence for a little time.  Then he said:  “You can’t do it, Evan.  It’s fine and glorious and heart-breaking, and all that; but you can’t do it.”