The delegates broke into applause once more.

And Walker Farr sent a queer look straight into the eyes of the colonel.

Conviction slapped Colonel Symonds Dodd in his mental face with a violence that made him blink!

This man was no amateur in understanding how to sway an audience.  To be sure, he had transgressed parliamentary usage, but in those words he had driven home facts that all knew to be truths—­truths which others had been afraid to voice, but which, once put into words in public, tied the hideous stamp of ring favoritism upon Governor Harwood, made him a candidate who could not be trusted.

The colonel understood, and he also saw plainly that the most of the audience had accepted the apology, and held no prejudice against the speaker.

“Now that I understand what the rules governing nominations are I will not break them again,” declared Farr.

But like a shrewd and not over-scrupulous lawyer he had jabbed into the proceedings a stinging truth which, though excluded by the rules, nevertheless served vitally the big purpose of his efforts; the colonel understood that, too, and turned back to his chair fairly livid with rage.

“There is a man in this state who knows true law,” continued the speaker, “and that you may be assured that he will sign a bill which is passed for the good of the people, let me tell you a little about his character.”

Colonel Dodd cursed without trying to moderate his tones very much.

“There’s no telling what tack that renegade will take next.  This infernal convention is getting to be a nightmare.  Those fools out there are listening as if they expected that cheap demagogue to bring ’em a new Messiah,” he told the committeemen near him.

“There’s a funny noise going on out there among ’em,” ventured “Whispering Saunders.”  “Round-up fellows say they hear something like it when a herd is getting ready to stampede.  It’s the same thing in a political convention sometimes.  The reason for it is:  the crowd is ripe and the head steer gives the right bellow—­and off they go!”

Colonel Dodd grabbed his nephew by the elbow and rushed him off the stage and into an anteroom.

“Is that matter on the hair-trigger, Richard?” he demanded.

“It’s ready to be snapped any minute.”

The colonel whipped out his check-book and began to write.  “It’s as old Saunders said,” he muttered as he wrote.  “And we’ve got to rope, throw, and tie that one steer.”

The check was for five thousand dollars!

Young Dodd seized it, and when his uncle hurried back upon the stage the nephew, through the door which was left open, beckoned to Mullaney.  The detective came, hurrying past Colonel Dodd, who stared until the door had closed behind young Dodd and the officer.

“But he’s my own nephew!” he assured himself, as if he were replying to an accusation laid against Richard Dodd.  He shook his head and sat down in his chair.  “I wonder how long it has been since old Bob Mullaney put a price of that size on his secrets!  I’m afraid Richard hasn’t the Dodd ability to drive a sharp trade.”