Mr. Oscar Fischer and his friend, Senator Theodore Hastings, stood side by side, a week later, in the bar of one of the most fashionable of New York hotels. They were passing away the few minutes before Pamela and her aunt would be ready to join them in the dining room above.
"Very little news, I fancy," Hastings remarked, glancing at the tape which was passing through his companion's fingers.
"Nothing—of any importance," Fischer replied. "Nothing."
The older man glanced searchingly at his companion, the change in whose tone was ominous. Fischer was standing with the tape in his hand, his eyes glued upon a certain paragraph. The Senator took out his eyeglasses and looked over his friend's shoulder.
"What's this?" he demanded. "Eh?"
Fischer was fighting a great battle and fighting it well.
"Something wrong, apparently, with Frank Roughton," he observed; "an old college friend of mine. They made him Governor of——only last year."
Hastings read the item thoughtfully.
Governor Roughton this morning tendered his resignation as Governor of the State of——. We understand that it was at once accepted. Numerous arrests have taken place with reference to the great explosion at the Bembridge powder factory.
"Looks rather fishy, that," Hastings observed thoughtfully.