"Stillings?" she repeated. "Why, he's the man that's waiting."

"Sam, is it? Used to be one of our servants--you remember? Wants to borrow more money, I presume." He went down-stairs, after first helping himself to a glass of whiskey, and then gallantly kissing his wife. Mrs. Cresswell was more unsatisfied than usual. She could not help feeling that Mr. Cresswell was treating her about as he treated his wine--as an indulgence; a loved one, a regular one, but somehow not as the reality and prose of life, unless--she started at the thought--his life was all indulgence. Having nothing else to do, she went out and paraded the streets, watching the people who were happy enough to be busy.

Cresswell and Stillings had a long conference, and when Stillings hastened away he could not forbear cutting a discreet pigeon-wing as he rounded the corner. He had been promised the backing of the whole Southern delegation in his schemes.

That night Teerswell called on him in his modest lodgings, where over hot whiskey and water they talked.

"The damned Southern upstart," growled Teerswell, forgetting Stillings' birth-place. "Do you mean to say he's actually slated for the place?"

"He's sure of it, unless something turns up."

"Well, who'd have dreamed it?" Teerswell mixed another stiff dram.

"And that isn't all," came Sam Stillings' unctuous voice.

Teerswell glanced at him. "What else?" he asked, pausing with the steaming drink poised aloft.

"If I'm not mistaken, Alwyn intends to marry Miss Wynn."

"You lie!" the other suddenly yelled with an oath, overturning his tumbler and striding across the floor. "Do you suppose she'd look at that black--"

"Well, see here," said the astute Stillings, checking the details upon his fingers. "They visit Senator Smith's together; he takes her home from the Treble Clef; they say he talked to nobody else at her party; she recommends him for the campaign--"

"What!" Teerswell again exploded. But Stillings continued smoothly: "Oh, I have ways of finding things out. She corresponds with him during the campaign; she asks Smith to make him Register; and he calls on her every night."

Teerswell sat down limply.

"I see," he groaned. "It's all up. She's jilted me--and I--and I--"

"I don't see as it's all up yet," Stillings tried to reassure him.

"But didn't you say they were engaged?"

"I think they are; but--well, you know Carrie Wynn better than I do: suppose, now--suppose he should lose the appointment?"

"But you say that's sure."

"Unless something turns up."

"But what can turn up?"

"We might turn something."

"What--what--I tell you man, I'd--I'd do anything to down that nigger. I hate him. If you'll help me I'll do anything for you."




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