outskirts of the town, not far from Mr. Gulmore's, but it lacked the towers and greenhouse, the brick stables, and black iron gates, which made Mr. Gulmore's residence an object of public admiration. It had, indeed, a careless, homelike air, as of a building that disdains show, standing sturdily upon a consciousness of utility and worth. The study of the master lay at the back. It was a room of medium size, with two French windows, which gave upon an orchard of peach and apple-trees where lush grass hid the fallen fruit. The furniture was plain and serviceable. A few prints on the wall and a wainscoting of books showed the owner's tastes.

In this room one morning Lawyer Hutchings and Professor Roberts sat talking. The lawyer was sparely built and tall, of sympathetic appearance. The features of the face were refined and fairly regular, the blue eyes pleasing, the high forehead intelligent-looking. Yet—whether it was the querulous horizontal lines above the brows, or the frequent, graceful gestures of the hands—Mr. Hutchings left on one an impression of weakness, and, somehow or other, his precise way of speaking suggested intellectual narrowness. It was understood, however, that he had passed through Harvard with honours, and had done well in the law-course. It is, therefore, not to be wondered at that when he went West, he went with the idea that that was the shortest way to Washington. Yet he had had but a moderate degree of success; he was too thoroughly grounded in his work not to get a good practice, but he was not the first in his profession. He had been outdone by men who fought their cases, and his popularity was due to affable manners, and not to admiration of his power or talents. His obvious good nature had got with years a tinge of discontent; life had been to him a series of disappointments.

One glance at Professor Roberts showed him to be a different sort of a man, though perhaps harder to read. Square shoulders and attenuated figure—a mixture of energy and nervous force without muscular strength; a tyrannous forehead overshadowing lambent hazel eyes; a cordial frankness of manner with a thinker's tricks of gesture, his nervous fingers emphasizing his words.

Their talk was of an article assailing the Professor that had appeared that morning in "The Republican Herald."

"I don't like it," Mr. Hutchings was saying. "It's inspired by Gulmore, and he always means what he says—and something more."

"Except the suggestion that my father had certain good, or rather bad, reasons for leaving Kentucky, it seems to me merely spiteful. It's very vilely written."

"He only begins with your father. Then he wonders what the real motives are which induce you to change your political creed. But the affectation of fairness is the danger signal. One can't imagine Gulmore hesitating to assert what he has heard, that you have no religious principles. Coming from him, that means a declaration of war; he'll attack you without scruple—persistently. It's well known that he cares nothing for religion—even his wife's a Unitarian. What he's aiming at, I don't know, but he's sure to do you harm. He has done me harm, and yet he never gave me such a warning. He only went for me when I ran for office. As soon as the elections were over, he left me in peace. He's eminently practical, and rather good-natured. There's no small vicious malice or hate in him; but he's overbearing and loves a fight. Is it worth your while to make an enemy of him? We're sure to be beaten."

"Of course it isn't worth my while in that sense, but it's my duty, I think, as you think it yours. Remark, too, that I've never attacked Mr. Gulmore—never even mentioned him. I've criticised the system, and avoided personalities."

"He won't take it in that way. He is the system; when you criticise it, you criticise him. Every one will so understand it. He makes all the appointments, from mayor down to the boy who sweeps out an office; every contract is given to him or his appointees; that's how he has made his fortune. Why, he beat me the second time I ran for District Court Judge, by getting an Irishman, the Chairman of my Committee, to desert me at the last moment. He afterwards got Patrick Byrne elected a Justice of the Peace, a man who knows no law and can scarcely sign his own name."

"How disgraceful! And you would have me sit down quietly under the despotism of Mr. Gulmore? And such a despotism! It cost the city half a million dollars to pave the streets, and I can prove that the work could have been done as well for half the sum. Our democratic system of government is the worst in the world, if a tenth part of what I hear is true; and before I admit that, I'll see whether its abuses are corrigible. But why do you say we're sure to be beaten? I thought you said—"

"Yes," Mr. Hutchings interrupted, "I said that this railway extension gives us a chance. All the workmen are Irishmen, Democrats to a man, who'll vote and vote straight, and that has been our weak point. You can't get one-half the better classes to go to the polls. The negroes all vote, too, and vote Republican—that has been Gulmore's strength. Now I've got the Irishmen against his negroes I may win. But what I feel is that even if I do get to be Mayor, you'll suffer for it more than I shall gain by your help. Do you see? And, now that I'm employed by the Union Pacific I don't care much for city politics. I'd almost prefer to give up the candidature. May'll suffer, too. I think you ought to consider the matter before going any further."

"This is not the time for consideration. Like you I am trying to put an end to a corrupt tyranny. I work and shall vote against a venal and degrading system. May and I will bear what we must. She wouldn't have me run away from such adversaries. Fancy being governed by the most ignorant, led on by the most dishonest! It's incomprehensible to me how such a paradoxical infamy can exist."

"I think it'll become comprehensible to you before this election's over. I've done my best for years to alter it, and so far I've not been very successful. You don't seem to understand that where parties are almost equal in strength, a man who'll spend money is sure to win. It has paid Gulmore to organize the Republican party in this city; he has made it pay him and all those who hold office by and through him. 'To the victors, the spoils.' Those who have done the spoiling are able to pay more than the spoiled—that's all."

"Yes, but in this case the spoilers are a handful, while the spoiled are the vast majority. Why should it be impossible to convince the majority that they're being robbed?"

"Because ideas can't get into the heads of negroes, nor yet into the heads of illiterate Irishmen. You'll find, too, that five Americans out of every ten take no interest in ordinary politics, and the five who do are of the lowest class—a Boss is their natural master. Our party politics, my friend, resembles a game of faro—the card that happens to be in the box against the same card outside—and the banker holding the box usually manages to win. Let me once get power and Gulmore'll find his labour unremunerative. If it hadn't been for him I'd have been in Congress long ago. But now I'll have to leave you. Talk it over with May and—you see that Gulmore challenges you to prove the corruption or else withdraw the imputation? What do you mean to do?"

"I'll prove it, of course. Long before I spoke I had gone into that paving contract; it was clearly a fraud."

"Well, I'd think, if I were you, before I acted, though you're a great help to me; your last speech was very powerful."

"Unfortunately I'm no speaker, but I'll do as well as I can, and you may rely on me to go on to the end. The rich at least must be forced to refrain from robbing the poor.... That malicious sneer at my father hurts me. It can only mean that he owed money in Kentucky. He was always careless in money matters, too careless, but he's very generous at heart. I owe him everything. I'll find out about it at once, and if it