was tramping the porch from end to end.

The boarding creaked under him as he strode, his gait a lurch that moved
one side of his body at a time. The smoke from his cigar streamed past
his ears.

It was silent at the front of the big house, and in that silence the
three of them could hear the occasional shouts that greeted demagogic
oratory down in the village. The comment of the lord of Canibas was the
anathema that he growled to himself.

His grandson faced him twice on his turns along the porch, protest in
his demeanor. But the old man brushed past.

"Grandfather, I want a word with you," Harlan ventured at last.

"You talk girl to me just now, young fellow, and you won't find it
safe!"

He marched on, and the grandson resolutely waited his return.

"I'm going to talk business, sir. I want this thing understood. Is it
true what I hear? Do you propose to put my name before that caucus? I
want to say--"

But the old man strode away from him again.

"He says he's going to do it, and it's fool business," confided Presson.
"You've got to stop him. There's no reason in it."