“Well,” Grierson exclaimed, “whether he’s elected or not, I wouldn’t give much now for your chances of getting to the Senate.  We can’t afford to fly in the face of the dear public.”

A tense silence followed this remark.  In the street below the rumble of the traffic came to us muffled by the heavy plate-glass windows.  I saw Tallant glance at Gorse and Dickinson, and I knew the matter had been decided between themselves, that they had been merely withholding it from me until after election.  I was besmirched, for the present at least.

“I think you will do me the justice, gentlemen,” I remember saying slowly, with the excessive and rather ridiculous formality of a man who is near the end of his tether, “that the idea of representing you in the Senate was yours, not mine.  You begged me to take the appointment against my wishes and my judgment.  I had no desire to go to Washington then, I have less to-day.  I have come to the conclusion that my usefulness to you is at an end.”

I got to my feet.  I beheld Miller Gorse sitting impassive, with his encompassing stare, the strongest man of them all.  A change of firmaments would not move him.  But Dickinson had risen and put his hand on my shoulder.  It was the first time I had ever seen him white.

“Hold on, Hugh,” he exclaimed, “I guess we’re all a little cantankerous today.  This confounded campaign has got on our nerves, and we say things we don’t mean.  You mustn’t think we’re not grateful for the services you’ve rendered us.  We’re all in the same boat, and there isn’t a man who’s been on our side of this fight who could take a political office at this time.  We’ve got to face that fact, and I know you have the sense to see it, too.  I, for one, won’t be satisfied until I see you in the Senate.  It’s where you belong, and you deserve to be there.  You understand what the public is, how it blows hot and cold, and in a few years they’ll be howling to get us back, if these demagogues win.

“Sure,” chimed in Grierson, who was frightened, “that’s right, Hugh.  I didn’t mean anything.  Nobody appreciates you more than I do, old man.”

Tallant, too, added something, and Berringer,—­I’ve forgotten what.  I was tired, too tired to meet their advances halfway.  I said that I had a speech to get ready for that night, and other affairs to attend to, and left them grouped together like crestfallen conspirators—­all save Miller Gorse, whose pervasive gaze seemed to follow me after I had closed the door.

An elevator took me down to the lobby of the Corn Bank Building.  I paused for a moment, aimlessly regarding the streams of humanity hurrying in and out, streaking the white marble floor with the wet filth of the streets.  Someone spoke my name.  It was Bitter, Judd Jason’s “legal” tool, and I permitted myself to be dragged out of the eddies into a quiet corner by the cigar stand.