He did not find either of his men in the Hon. David Everett's
headquarters. The rooms were packed. Perspiring delegates were edging in
and oozing out. Everett was industriously shaking hands, his rubicund
face sweat-streaked, his voice hoarse after his hours of constant
chatter in that smoke-drenched atmosphere. Harlan stood a moment, and
looked at him with a sort of shamed pity. The plot seemed unworthy, in
spite of its object. The sordid treachery of politics was turned up to
him, all its seamy side displayed.
Two men crowded past him, talking low; but in that press their mouths
were near his ear. They were halted by the jam at the door.
"What did you stab him for--how much?" asked one.
"Got ten," said his companion--"ten on account. I get fifty for the
caucus."
"Too many machine Republicans in my town, and he knows it," said the
other. "The best I could do was fool him out of twenty-five. But that's
doing well--in these times. This Spinney stir has made it cost Everett
more than it has cost any candidate for ten years.
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