The committee found their nominee in his room at the hotel. He was sitting calmly by his open window looking into the green boughs of the elm trees that grew along that side of the old hostelry. An open book lay on his knee, and having calmly called “Come in!” in answer to the knock at the door, he looked up as they entered, as if they had interrupted the meditations of a statesman.
“Ah, gentlemen,” he said, rising.
He laid his book aside and stepped softly toward them. Rankin saw at once the change that was on him. His hair was combed, his face shaven, his long coat brushed, and he had donned a fresh white waistcoat. As Rankin noted these details, a pain pinched his heart, for he deduced from them that there was no surprise in store for Garwood. Ordinarily he would have been the first to speak, he would have rushed forward, and seized the hand of his candidate, and exulted in his frank and open way, but now the words he had were checked on his lips, and he remained dumb, growing formal as the sensitive will. Thus it was left for Knowlton, for Randolph had no stomach for the job, to say, as he held forth his hand:
“Mr. Garwood, let me be the first to congratulate you on your nomination.”
Garwood smiled, and took Knowlton’s hand.
“Gentlemen, I thank you,” he said. He gave his hand to Randolph, and last of all to Rankin.
“Ah, Jim, old fellow,” he said.
But he did not meet Rankin’s eye.
“The convention is waiting for you, Mr. Garwood,” said Knowlton, and the nominee answered:
“Ah, indeed? I shall be glad to accompany you.”