But, after all, it is taking the second place that costs—not being there after it has been once sincerely and thoroughly accepted. Bunyan knew long ago that it was easy walking in the Valley of Humiliation, once you had come safely down.
On the street an acquaintance met Strong and turned to walk beside him. It was the man who would not trust Judge Garvey out of sight with his baby’s silver mug.
“I was just going to your office,” he said. “It’s something very important.” He spoke with a marked friendliness, and a transparently covert sympathy. “You see,” he went on, confidentially, “we fellows that have been against Garvey begin to think our minority’s about over. The whole affair of Miss Northrop has hurt him. He was shabby when first she came, about that Coakley business, and he’s been ugly about her ever since in a sneaking sort of way. Such a lady, too! And there’s a thing come out to-day—if you’ll excuse my speaking of it.” He showed a certain embarrassment. “Uncle Billy Green gave it away first—he knew, being postmaster—but Garvey’s been boasting of it himself, too, in the bar-room. You know you used to write to a fellow in the States, and haven’t written to him so much lately.”
“Yes, I know,” said Strong. The man caught a hint of what he did not say in what he did.
“Uncle Billy gives away any interesting point he gets in the post-office,” he said, apologetically. “You knew that before, Strong. Well, Garvey got out of him, too, that Miss Northrop didn’t have nor write any letters; and he got it into his head she was hiding. Anybody could see she wasn’t used to working for a living—”
“Look here—”
“Bless you, Strong, I sha’n’t say a word disrespectful to her. This is something you’d ought to know. He just did up a ‘Clarion’ with some notice about the school in it, and her name marked, and sent it to that fellow you used to write to; and he wrote on the margin: ‘Please forward to Miss N.’s friends.’ He said in the bar-room, to-day, that he didn’t know just what would come of it, but it stood to reason if she was on the hide, it would damage her or you, somehow.”
“It hasn’t, however,” said Strong. “But if I stayed round the bar-room—”
“Oh, we choked him off. I tell you, Strong, everybody thinks it was a pretty dirty trick. The people don’t care so much about his big tricks, but they won’t stand any such small ones. No money in it, either—only spite! Well, the long and the short is—it’s only a few weeks till convention; and if you’ll take hold now while they’re mad, you can name your own man for Senate, and we’ll send you to Assembly.”