He gayly shoved the man to one side and went on.

“Well, even Fog-horn is getting more votes corralled than you old blind mules realize!” shouted the other after him.  “This party is sick!  You’re going to find it out, too!”

“Sick it is, but I reckon here’s the doctor,” muttered the old man, hurrying toward the top of the stairs.

General Waymouth had appeared there, Harlan close behind him.

The Duke forestalled those who hastened to greet the veteran.  Taking his arm, he marched him promptly across the corridor and into the rear room of State Committee headquarters.  He locked the door behind them after Harlan had entered.

“I don’t think we’re exactly ready for that public reception yet,” he observed with a chuckle, turning from the door.  He glanced at the General, anxious and keen in his scrutiny.

“Vard!” he cried, heartily, noting the resolution in the countenance, the light in the old soldier’s eyes, “you’re looking better, here, than you sounded over the telephone a few hours ago.  You’re going to stand—­of course you’re going to stand!”

“I’ll take the nomination, Thelismer—­that is, providing you want me to stand as a candidate who will go into office without a single string hitched to him.”

“I guess the party isn’t running into any desperate chances, Vard, with you in the big chair.  Sit down now and take it easy.  I’ll call Luke in.  After we’ve had our talk with him, we’ll begin to enlarge our circle a little—­it’s a pretty close combination up to now.”

The porter at the door summoned the chairman of the State Committee.

“The Senator is just in from Washington,” he announced, after his enthusiastic greeting of the General.  “I took him right up to Room 40, where the Committee on Resolutions is at work.  He wanted to attend to that first.  Then he’ll be down here.”

The chairman was referring to the United States Senator who would, by party custom, preside at the convention next day for the purpose of tinkering his own fences.

“Is Senator Pownal dictating the platform?” inquired the General, rather icily.

“He’s got a few little ideas of his own he wants to work in,” affably explained the chairman.  “Nothing drastic.  A little endorsement of some things he’s gunning for.  It’ll be all safe and sane.  We backed those resubmission fellows out of the room.”

“By-the-way, keep a sharp eye out for those chaps, Luke,” counselled the Duke.  “I’ve been hearing around the hotel this evening that they’re going to introduce a resubmission plank from the floor to-morrow.”

“I’ll rush an early vote in the convention, providing that all resolutions shall be presented to the Committee on Resolutions without argument,” stated the chairman.  “All that foolishness can be killed right in the committee-room.  We’ve got trouble enough on hand in the party this year without letting the convention express itself on the liquor question, even if the split only amounts to a sliver.”