“Well,” remarked Caleb Conover, Railroader, with a Gargantuan sigh of relief as he flung himself into the great desk chair in his study, and lighted one of his eternal black cigars, “that’s over!”
“It sure is!” chuckled Billy Shevlin, who, alone of the cheering throng that had escorted the gubernatorial nominee home from the convention, had been permitted to enter the sanctum. “But, Boss, I wisht that Standish feller hadn’t stampeded the herd like he did. It’ll cut holes in your ‘landslide’ scheme.”
“What can the crank do?” grinned Caleb. “Not a paper in Granite’ll report his speech. And we’ll work the same game up-State we did during his tour. If worst comes to worst, there’s always a quiet, orderly way of losing sight of him at the polls. No, son, Standish’s yawps don’t bother me any more. I’ve got him about where I want him, I guess. Here’s the cash for the rooters. And here’s something for the boys to-night, too. Whoop it up all you like, so long as you keep on the other side of the railroad tracks. That’ll be all. Come around by eight to-morrow. And say, Billy!” he called after his departing henchman, “see if you can find Miss Lanier downstairs anywhere. I want to speak to her.”
The Railroader leaned farther back in the depths of the soft chair, drawing in great draughts of strong tobacco-reek and expelling it in duplex clouds through his thick nostrils.
It was good to rest. As far as his iron frame and cold nerves could feel such a weakness, reaction from the long strain of the day was upon him. In Conover’s case it took the form of lazy comfort; of enjoyment in his rank cigar, in the sensuous delight of relaxing every tense muscle and of sprawling idly, happily before his coal fire. The grim lines of the mouth relaxed, the keen eyes took on a pleasanter light.
He had fought. He had won. He would continue to win. For him the joy of fighting lay more in the battle itself than in the victory. But in the pause between two conflicts it was good to stretch one’s self out in a great, comfortable chair, to smoke, to blink drowsily into the red coals. The one thing remaining to complete his sense of utter well-being was the presence of some congenial soul wherewith to talk over his achievement. And——
Anice Lanier’s knock sounded at the door. Caleb’s placid expression deepened into a smile of real pleasure.
“Come in!” he called. “I was just hoping you’d——”
He checked himself. Across the threshold stepped Anice. She wore a hat and was dressed for the street. Over her shoulder Caleb caught sight of Clive Standish.
“Here’s all sorts of unexpected honors!” exclaimed the Railroader. “I heard you’d bolted, Standish, but I never thought you’d bolt so far as this poor shanty of mine. Come in and sit down. We’ll make a real merry family party, us three.”