"A matter of a day or two of rest. You did good work, Mr. Wiggins, good work," he whispered; "you'd make a good parliamentary whip—'Gad, my voice is gone!—but as you say, in a good cause—a good cause—"
"No better on earth," Mr. Wiggins responded enthusiastically.
The Colonel was magnanimous; he forbore to whisper one word in reminder of the old-time pessimism that twenty years ago held the small-headed man of Maine in such dubious thrall.
"It was each man's vote that told—yours, and mine—" he whispered again, nodding understandingly.
Mr. Wiggins at once changed the subject.
"Don't you exert yourself, Colonel; let me do the talking—for a change," he added with a twinkle in his eyes. The Colonel caught his meaning and threw back his head for a hearty laugh, but failed to make a sound.
"Mr. Van Ostend came up on the train last night, just in time to see the fireworks, they say," said Mr. Wiggins. "Yes," he went on in answer to a question he read in the Colonel's eyes, "came up to see about the Champo property. Emlie told me this morning. Mr. Van Ostend and Tave and Father Honoré are up there now; I saw the automobile standing in the driveway as I came up on the car. Guess Tave has run the place about as long as he wants to alone. He's getting on in years like the rest of us, and don't want so much responsibility."
"Does Emlie know anything?" whispered the Colonel eagerly.
"Nothing definite; they're going to talk it over to-day; but he had some idea about the disposition of the estate, I think, from what he said."
The Colonel motioned with his lips: "Tell me."