square-deal end of every proposition that I find to lay hold of."

"Good politics, boy, all good politics!" declared the old man. With
humor that had a little malicious fun in it he avoided endorsing this
impulsive zeal as anything except shrewd playing of his own game. But
his eyes told the young man what his lips did not utter. There was pride
in them, encouragement, joy that would not be hidden--and something
else: wistful regret, perhaps; it seemed to be that--the regret that age
feels when it has lost its illusions and beholds them springing again in
the heart of fervent youth; regret conscious that in its turn this new
faith in things present and things to come will be dead and cold, too.

"I don't think we have to worry much about the election, Harlan. Go out
and tackle the boys. You'll make good. Take two days. That'll be time
enough. And then I want you."

Harlan's eyes questioned him.

"You know I opened up a little to you last night, bub. You're all I've
got, you know. I've not been much of a hand to talk. I don't believe
you've realized just how I've felt. But we'll let it stand as it is.
I've got plans for you, boy, better than the little pancake politics of
this district. I know a few things in politics. I'm old enough to
understand how to put you in right. It's one thing to know how, and it's
another thing to find occasion just ripe and ready."

He rolled his cigar to the centre of his mouth and lifted the corners in
an illuminating grin.

"Bub, in two days be ready to come with me. I'm going to put you in