Mr. Hopkins gave a glance at Wetherell.

“Will don’t talk,” said Jethro, and resumed his inspection through the lace curtains of what was going on in the street.

“Cassandry’s, got him to go,” said Mr. Hopkins.  “It’s all fixed, as sure as Sunday.  If it misses fire, then I’ll never mention the governorship again.  But if it don’t miss fire,” and the Honorable Alva leaned over and put his hand on Jethro’s knee, “if it don’t miss fire, I get the nomination.  Is that right?”

“Y-you’ve guessed it, Alvy.”

“That’s all I want to know,” declared the Honorable Alva; “when you say that much, you never go back on it.  And, you can go ahead and give the orders, Jethro.  I have to see that the boys get the tickets.  Cassandry’s got a head on her shoulders, and she kind of wants to be governor, too.”  He got as far as the door, when he turned and bestowed upon Jethro a glance of undoubted tribute.  “You’ve done a good many smart things,” said he, “but I guess you never beat this, and never will.”

“H-hain’t done it yet, Alvy,” answered Jethro, still looking out through the window curtains at the ever ganging groups of gentlemen in the street.  These groups had a never ceasing interest for Jethro Bass.

Mr. Wetherell didn’t talk, but had he been the most incurable of gossips he felt that he could have done no damage to this mysterious affair, whatever it was.  In a certain event, Mr. Hopkins was promised the governorship:  so much was plain.  And it was also evident that Miss Cassandra Hopkins was in some way to be instrumental.  William Wetherell did not like to ask Jethro, but he thought a little of sounding Mr. Merrill, and then he came to the conclusion that it would be wiser for him not to know.

“Er—­Will,” said Jethro, presently, “you know Heth Sutton—­Speaker Heth Sutton?”

“Yes.”

“Er—­wouldn’t mind askin’ him to step in and see me before the session—­if he was comin’ by—­would you?”

“Certainly not.”

“Er—­if he was comin’ by,” said Jethro.

Mr. Wetherell found Mr. Speaker Sutton glued to a pillar in the rotunda below.  He had some difficulty in breaking through the throng that pressed around him, and still more in attracting his attention, as Mr. Sutton took no manner of notice of the customary form of placing one’s hand under his elbow and pressing gently up.  Summoning up his courage, Mr. Wetherell tried the second method of seizing him by the buttonhole.  He paused in his harangue, one hand uplifted, and turned and glanced at the storekeeper abstractedly.

“Mr. Bass asked me to tell you to drop into Number 7,” said Wetherell, and added, remembering express instructions, “if you were going by.”

Wetherell had not anticipated the magical effect this usual message would have on Mr. Sutton, nor had he thought that so large and dignified a body would move so rapidly.  Before the astonished gentlemen who had penned him could draw a breath, Mr. Sutton had reached the stairway and, was mounting it with an agility that did him credit.  Five minutes later Wetherell saw the Speaker descending again, the usually impressive quality of his face slightly modified by the twitching of a smile.