“Shake,” said Bragdon, and they clasped hands without Roderick hardly understanding why. “Let me tell you something else,” Bragdon went on. “Carlisle claims to be a Republican but I believe he is a Democrat. He don’t look like a Republican to me. He looks like a regular secessionist Democrat and there is going to be a contest this fall for the nomination for state senator. W B. Grady and the whole smelting outfit are going to back this man Carlisle and I am going to beat him. And say—old man—” he smiled at Roderick when he said this and slapped him on the shoulder familiarly—“I want you on my side.”
“Well,” said Roderick, half embarrassed and hesitatingly, “I guess I am getting into politics pretty lively among other things. I don’t see at this moment why I should not be on your side.”
“Well, come and see me at my office over at Encampment and we will talk this matter over.” And so it was agreed.
Just then they heard singing, so they threw their cigarettes away and went back to the ballroom. A quartet of voices accompanied on the piano by Gail Holden were giving a selection from the Bohemian Girl. Whitley Adams was hovering near Miss Holden, and insisted on turning the music At the close of the number Whitley requested that Mr. Warfield should sing. Everyone joined in the invitation; it was a surprise to his western friends that he was musical. Reluctantly Roderick complied, and proving himself possessed of a splendid baritone voice, delighted everyone by singing “Forgotten” and one or two other old-time melodies. Among many others, Dorothy, Barbara, and Grant Jones, who had now put in an appearance, overwhelmed him with congratulations. Gail Holden, too, who had been his accompanist, quietly but none the less warmly, complimented him.
Then Gail herself was prevailed upon to sing. As she resumed her seat at the piano, she glanced at Roderick.
“Do you know ‘The Rosary’.” she asked in a low voice unheard by the others.
“One of my favorites,” he answered.
“Then will you help me with a second?” she added, as she spread open the sheet of music.
“I’ll be honored,” he responded, taking his place by her side.
Her rich contralto voice swelled forth like the sweeping fullness of a distant church organ, and Roderick softly and sweetly blended his tones with hers. Under the player’s magic touch the piano with its deep resonant chords added to the perfect harmony of the two voices. The interpretation was wonderful; the listeners were spellbound, and there followed an interval of tense stillness after the last whispered notes had died away.