has served with distinction upon such boards as the Railroad Commission, the Board of Equalization, etc., etc.” (!!!) “A stanch Republican, one who puts party before—­” here the newspaper began to shake a little, and Mr. Crewe could not for the moment see whether the next word were place or principle.  He skipped a few lines.  The Tribune, it appeared, had a scintillating idea, which surely must have occurred to others in the State.  “Why not the Honourable Adam B. Hunt of Edmundton for the next governor?”

The Honourable Adam B. Hunt of Edmundton!

It is a pleasure to record, at this crisis, that Mr. Crewe fixed upon his secretary as steady an eye as though Mr. Pardriff’s bullet had missed its mark.

“Get me,” he said coolly, “the ‘State Encyclopaedia of Prominent Men.’” (Just printed.  Fogarty and Co., Newcastle, publishers.)

The secretary fetched it, open at the handsome and lifelike steel-engraving of the Honourable Adam, with his broad forehead and kindly, twinkling eyes, and the tuft of beard on his chin; with his ample statesman’s coat in natural creases, and his white shirt-front and little black tie.  Mr. Crewe gazed at this work of art long and earnestly.  The Honourable Adam B. Hunt did not in the least have the appearance of a bolt from the blue.  And then Mr. Crewe read his biography.

Two things he shrewdly noted about that biography; it was placed, out of alphabetical order, fourth in the book, and it was longer than any other with one exception that of Mr. Ridout, the capital lawyer.  Mr. Ridout’s place was second in this invaluable volume, he being preceded only by a harmless patriarch.  These facts were laid before Mr. Tooting, who was directed by telephone to come to Leith as soon as he should arrive in Ripton from his latest excursion.  It was nine o’clock at night when that long-suffering and mud-bespattered individual put in an appearance at the door of his friend’s study.

“Because I didn’t get on to it,” answered Mr. Tooting, in response to a reproach for not having registered a warning—­for he was Mr. Crewe’s seismograph.  “I knew old Adam was on the Railroads’ governor’s bench, but I hadn’t any notion he’d been moved up to the top of the batting list.  I told you right.  Ridout was going to be their next governor if you hadn’t singed him with the Pingsquit bill.  This was done pretty slick, wasn’t it?  Hilary got back from New York day before yesterday, and Pardriff has the editorial to-day.  Say, I always told you Pardriff wasn’t a reformer, didn’t I?”

Mr. Crewe looked pained.

“I prefer to believe the best of people until I know the worst,” he said.  “I did not think Mr. Pardriff capable of ingratitude.”

What Mr. Crewe meant by this remark is enigmatical.

“He ain’t,” replied Mr. Tooting, “he’s grateful for that red ticket he carries around with him when he travels, and he’s grateful to the Honourable Adam B. Hunt for favours to come.  Peter Pardriff’s a grateful cuss, all-right, all right.”