"You have changed your views," Fischer muttered.
"To be perfectly frank with you, I have," Joyce acknowledged. "These outrages throughout the States are, to my mind, blatant and criminal. Directly or indirectly, the German-American public is responsible for them—indirectly, by inflammatory speeches, reckless journalism, and point-blank laudation of illegal acts; directly—well, here I can speak only from my own suspicions, so I will remain silent. But my mind is made up. A man in this country, as you know," he added, "need make only one mistake and his political future is blasted. I am not inclined to risk making that one mistake."
Hastings sighed. He was making a brave effort to conceal a great disappointment.
"One cannot argue with you, Mr. Joyce," he regretted. "You have come to a certain conclusion, and words are not likely to alter it. There is no one I would so dearly have loved to number amongst my supporters, but I see that it is a privilege for which I may not hope…. We will, if you are ready, Fischer, join the ladies."
They rose from the table a few minutes later.
Fischer, who had been eagerly watching his opportunity, drew Senator Joyce on one side for a moment as they passed down the crowded corridor.
"Mr. Joyce," he said, "I have heard your decision to-night with deeper regret than I can express, yet more than ever it has brought home one truth to me. Our position towards you was a wrong one. We offered you a reversion when we should have offered you the thing itself."
Senator Joyce swung around.
"Say, Mr. Fischer, what are you getting at?" he asked bluntly.
"I mean that it is Hastings and I who should have been your supporters, and you who should have been our candidate," Fischer suggested boldly. "What about it? It isn't too late."