They exchanged the usual commonplaces about the weather and the campaign, and, as they spoke, most of the committee looked darkly at Harley, but they said nothing. It was quite evident that his presence was a matter arranged definitely by Mr. Grayson, and it was politic for them to endorse it.
Mr. Grayson settled himself easily into an armchair, and looked around as if to say he was ready to listen. Harley stood by a window, careless in manner, seemingly, but never more watchful in his life, and on fire with curiosity.
Mr. Goodnight glanced at Mr. Crayon, and Mr. Crayon glanced at Mr. Goodnight. There came at once to Harley an amusing thought about putting the bell on the tiger. But perhaps these men regarded themselves as tigers.
Mr. Goodnight gave a premonitory cough, and taking his hands out of his pockets let his coat-tails drop. This also was a signal.
"Mr. Grayson," he said, "we have admired your campaign—have admired it greatly; we have appreciated the skill with which you have kept away from dangerous subjects, and we have been sure that it would continue to the end, but I must confess that this confidence of ours was shaken a little to-day—I trust that I am not hurting your feelings."
"Oh no, not at all. I also have a statement to make," said Jimmy Grayson, ingenuously. "But I shall be glad to hear yours first."
The big men were somewhat disconcerted, and Mr. Crayon spoke up briskly:
"Great issues at stake. In such emergencies Presidential nominees must hear advice."
"You are right," said Jimmy Grayson, gravely. "A Presidential nominee ought always to listen to advice."
Mr. Goodnight's face cleared.