wanted to jump in the river. Takes things tremendously to
heart--Dorman does."

He lighted a cigar, smiling quietly over that youthful quality of
Dorman's. "Well," he went on, leaning back in his chair and looking
about the room, "I thought I'd look in on you for a minute. You see
I'll not have the _entree_ to the Governor's office by afternoon."
He laughed, the easy, good-humoured laugh of one too sophisticated
to spend emotion uselessly.

It was he who fell into meditation then, and the Governor sat
looking at him; a paragraph from the newspaper came back to him:
"Harvey Francis is the most dangerous type of boss politician. His
is not the crude and vulgar method that asks a man what his vote is
worth. He deals gently and tenderly with consciences. He knows how
to get a man without fatally injuring that man's self-respect."

The Governor's own experience bore out the summary. When elected to
office as State Senator he had cherished old-fashioned ideas of
serving his constituents and doing his duty. But the very first week
Francis had asked one of those little favours of him, and, wishing
to show his appreciation of support given him in his election, he
had granted it. Then various courtesies were shown him; he was let
in on a "deal," and almost before he realised it, it seemed
definitely understood that he was a "Francis man."

Francis roused himself and murmured: "Fools!--amateurs."

"Leyman?" ventured the Governor.