The candidate sent for Harley the next noon, and when the correspondent entered the state-room set aside for his use, he saw that Mr. Grayson's face was grave. He held a yellow sheet of paper, evidently a telegraph form, in his right hand, and was tapping it lightly with the forefinger of his left hand.
"Harley," he said, smiling the frank smile that made him so many friends; "I've got in the habit of looking upon you as a friend and sort of confidential adviser."
"It makes me happy to hear you say so," said Harley, who was gratified.
Jimmy Grayson looked at the telegram, and his face became grave. Then he handed it to Harley, saying, "I have here something that I do not altogether understand. Read it."
It was from New York, and it said:
"Your silence on tariff issue admirable. Keep it up. Don't let enemy force you into action."
It was signed with the name of a New York politician well-known as a trimmer.
Mr. Grayson looked Harley squarely in the eye, and the correspondent's face fell.
"Now what does it mean?"
Harley was silent.