"And, furthermore, Thelismer, if you're willing to run a chance of tipping over the politics of this State for the sake of giving your grandson a course of sprouts, you're losing your mind in your old age, and ought to be taken care of."
Thornton turned and bestowed a grim smile on his angry friend.
"Presson, I've stood by the machine a good many years. Now, if I can't stand for a little business of my own without a riot, bring on your riot. I'll lick you in that caucus with one hand while I'm licking that dirty bunch of rebels with the other. I've got my reasons for what I'm doing."
"Give me a good reason, then," begged the chairman. "Killing off your friends for the sake of giving Harlan Thornton a liberal education doesn't appeal to me."
"My real reason wouldn't, either—not just now," returned the Duke, enigmatically.
At that moment half a dozen gaunt hounds raced around the corner of "The Barracks." They leaped at Thornton playfully, daubing his crash suit with their dusty paws. He seemed to recognize them. He cursed them and kicked them away savagely.
CHAPTER III
DENNIS KAVANAGH'S GIRL
A rangy roan horse followed the dogs, galloping so wildly that when his rider halted him his hoofs tore up the turf as he slid. A girl rode him. She was mounted astride, and Presson had to look twice at her to make sure she was a girl, for she wore knickerbockers and gaiters, and her copper-red hair curled so crisply that it seemed as short as a boy's.
"Good-morning, Mr. Duke," she called. "Is Harlan down from the woods yet?"