They
heard the complaining squeal of iron against iron as he turned to go
back home.
"We've come here to call on a man," stated the Duke, after they had
walked for a little time.
"On ex-Governor Waymouth, I suppose," Harlan suggested, quietly.
The old man chuckled.
"How long have you been suspecting that?"
"Ever since I heard Burnside mentioned, of course."
"Good! You guessed and kept still about it. You've got the makings of a
politician, and you are learning fast. Now what do you suppose I'm
sneaking up on Varden Waymouth in this way for?"
"You said I'd see for myself when the time came. I'm in no hurry,
grandfather."
The Duke patted Harlan's shoulder. "You're one of my kind, that's sure,
boy. I haven't got to put any patent time-lock onto your tongue. And I
can't say that of many chaps in this State. You're a safe man to have
along. Come on!"
The house was back from the street a bit--a modest mansion of brick,
dignifiedly old. Tall twin columns flanked the front door and supported
the roof of the porch.
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