“Wasn’t that,” Lorne asked him, “what, six months ago, you were all prepared to do?”

“Oh, no,” said Bingham, with the air of repudiating for everybody concerned.  “Not for a cent.  We were willing at one time to work it for what is was worth, but it never was worth that, and if you’d had a little more experience, Murchison, you’d have realized it.”

“That’s right, Lorne,” contributed Horace Williams.  “Experience—­that’s all you want.  You’ve got everything else, and a darned sight more.  We’ll get you there, all in good time.  But this time—­”

“You want me to step down and out,” said Lorne.

“That’s for you to say,” Bingham told him.  “We can nominate you again all right, but we’re afraid we can’t get you the convention.  Young and Windle have been working like moles for the past ten days—­”

“For Carter?” interrupted Lorne:  “Carter, of course.”

They nodded.  Carter stood the admitted fact.

“I’m sorry it’s Carter,” said Lorne thoughtfully.  “However—­” And he dropped, staring before him, into silence.  The others eyed him from serious, underhung faces.  Horace Williams, with an obvious effort, got up and clapped him on the shoulder.

“Brace up, old chap,” he said.  “You made a blame good fight for us, and we’ll do the same for you another day.”

“However, gentlemen,” the young man gathered himself up to say, “I believe I understand the situation.  You are my friends and this is your advice.  We must save the seat.  I’ll see Carter.  If I can get anything out of him to make me think he’ll go straight on the scheme to save the Empire”—­he smiled faintly—­“when it comes to a vote, I’ll withdraw in his favour at the convention.  Horace here will think up something for me—­any old lie will do, I suppose?  In any case, of course, I withdraw.”

He took his hat, and they all got up, startled a little at the quick and simple close of the difficult scene they had anticipated.  Horace Williams offered his hand.

“Shake, Lorne,” he said, and the other two, coming nearer. followed his example.

“Why, yes,” said Lorne.

He left them with a brief excuse, and they stood together in a moment’s silence, three practical politicians who had delivered themselves from a dangerous network involving higher things.

“Dash these heart-to-heart talks,” said Bingham irritably, “it’s the only thing to do, but why the devil didn’t he want something out of it?  I had that Registrarship in my inside pocket.”

“If anybody likes to kick me round the room,” remarked Horace Williams with depression, “I have no very strong objection.”

“And now,” Mr Farquharson said with a sigh, “we understand it’s got to be Carter.  I suppose I’m too old a man to do jockey for a three-year-old, but I own I’ve enjoyed the ride.”