He was on familiar ground. Behind the stage there were several
anterooms. He appropriated an empty one, hanging his hat on a hook.
"Not an elaborate lay-out for a candidate, Thelismer," he remarked,
pleasantly, "but headquarters to-day is where we hang up our hat."
"Vard, you don't mean to tell me--seriously, at this hour--that you mean
to be a candidate?" Thornton had put aside his anger. That had been
bitter and quick ire, because his grandson had seemed so blind to his
own personal interests. There was solicitude now in the old man's air.
"I got you into this myself," he went on. "I coaxed you in, for the
situation was right and ripe. You kicked it over yourself. I haven't any
compunctions, Vard. I stayed with you just as long as I could stay. But
I'll be dod-jimmed if I'll shove a Governor onto my party that's a
hybrid of Socialist and angel. Now you can't swing this thing. Everett's
got it buttoned. I tell you he has! You're too big a man, to-day, to get
before that convention and be thrown down. I've got a better line on the
situation than you have.
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