half-quizzical drawl. That drawl was effective now. He came down from
his chair, carefully stepping on the roots, and loomed above Mr. Niles,
amiable, tolerant, serene. His wrinkled crash suit, in whose ample folds
his mighty frame bulked, contrasted oddly with the dusty, rusty black in
which Mr. Niles defied the heat of the summer day.

"Now I am down where I can talk business, Ivus. What's the matter with
you?"

"Look into the depths of your own soul, if you've got the moral eyesight
to look through mud," declaimed Mr. Niles, refusing to descend from
polemics to plain business, "and you'll see what is the matter. You have
made yourself the voice by which this district has spoken in the halls
of state for fifty years, and that voice is not the voice of the
people!" He stood on tiptoe and roared the charge.

"It is certainly not your voice that I take down to the State House with
me," broke in their representative. "Freight charges on it would more
than eat up my mileage allowance. Now let's call off this bass-drum solo
business. Pull down your kite. To business!" He snapped his fingers
under Mr. Niles's nose.

One of those in the throng who had not smiled stepped forth and spoke
before the disconcerted "War Eagle" had recovered his voice.

"Since I am no orator, perhaps I can talk business to you,
Representative Thornton." He was a grave, repressed, earnest man, whose
sunburned face, bowed shoulders, work-stained hands, and general air
proclaimed the farmer. "We've come here on a matter of business, sir."