Kenmore laughed nervously. "I don't know that it makes much difference what you call it," he replied. "We are fighting all right, and the result is bound to be the same whether it is for the people or for ourselves. You won't fail us next Tuesday, Gorham? If you can turn the tide in our favor, you will accomplish the greatest stroke in your career."
"I shall be there," Gorham replied, and with deliberate intent turned the conversation into general channels.
Kenmore took his departure shortly after dinner, and Eleanor and Alice remained with Mr. Gorham and Allen, who lingered a few moments over their cigars before taking up their evening's labors. Eleanor, in an effort to relieve her own mind from its oppressing thoughts, quite unconsciously called attention to Allen's quiet bearing, which Mr. Gorham had hoped would pass by without attracting attention, knowing as he did what lay beneath.
"How sober you are to-night, Allen," she said.
The boy looked up quickly. "Forgive me for being such poor company," he replied, simply. "I was thinking over what the Senator has been telling us."
"You must leave all that worry to me," Gorham said, kindly. "Great burdens are not meant for young shoulders. The Consolidated Companies is too strong a force to be vanquished without a hard struggle, even when attacked by so mighty an organization as the United States Senate."
"I was not worrying about that, Mr. Gorham," Allen replied, and he regretted the words as soon as they had left his lips.
"What is it, then?" asked Alice.
The boy passed his hand across his forehead and rose to his feet. "I don't know what it is," he answered, irresolutely. "I am all upset to-night—do you mind if I go up to the library now, Mr. Gorham, and wait for you there?"
Gorham held out his hand and Allen grasped it firmly, yet turned his face away.