"I'm a pretty old man to be tearing 'round nights in this fashion, bub, but I feel younger by twenty years just this minute. Now I didn't tell you my plans this morning. Reckoned I'd wait till I had a clear view ahead. I've got it now. I'll wire ahead to the junction for our baggage to be brought from the hotel and put on board this train. We'll stay on. State capital next. Down to Luke's place. We'll stay there till State Convention. Finger right on the pulse after this."
He called the porter and arranged for his berths, and ordered the telegram sent from the next station.
He began leisurely to unfasten his necktie and collar.
"Got to tell Luke, you know. A close corporation of four—that's enough to know it. Can't trust the rest. We'll let 'em keep their old political hen sitting on their china egg. We'll hatch the good egg in our own nest. Then for a glorious old cackle! Vard Waymouth will be the next Governor of this State! Sure!"
"And this State will have the right man on the job with him as Governor!" cried the young man, enthusiastically. "I'm proud of what you did to-night, grandfather. I don't believe he would have listened to anyone else."
"Friendship, comradeship, mean something when you get old, my boy."
"I hope they'll all know who did it when the time comes right. Some of the men who have been growling about you behind your back will have their mouths shut for them."
"You've been hearing the old man cussed thoroughly and scientifically, eh?" drawled the Duke. He squinted, quizzically. "Well, a man who stays in politics fifty years and doesn't make enemies, stays too close to the ground to be worth anything. Good, healthy, vigorous enemies are a compliment."
"I wonder whether his party will say that when General Waymouth starts out in his reforms."
"What reforms?" demanded the old man, tugging off his collar.