Tom burst out laughing, and clapped his companion
lightly on the shoulder, his eyes dancing with pleasure.
“Upon my soul,” he cried, “I believe
you are! It’s against all my tradition,
and I see I am the gull of poetry; for I’ve always
believed it to be beyond question that this sort of
miracle was wrought, not by rage, but by the tenderer
senti—” Tom checked himself.
“Well, let’s take a drive.”
“Meredith,” said the other, turning to
him gravely, “you may think me a fool, if you
will, and it’s likely I am; but I don’t
leave this station except by train. I’ve
only two days to work in, and every minute lessens
our chances to beat McCune, and I have to begin by
wasting time on a tussle with a traitor. There’s
another train at eleven fifty-five; I don’t
take any chances on missing that one.”
“Well, well,” laughed his friend, pushing
him good-humoredly toward a door by a red and white
striped pillar, “we’ll wait here, if you
like; but at least go in there and get a shave; it’s
a clean shop. You want to look your best if you
are going down to fight H. Fisbee.”
“Take these, then, and you will understand,”
said Harkless; and he thrust his three telegrams of
the morning into Tom’s hand and disappeared into
the barber-shop. When he was gone, Meredith went
to the telegraph office in the station, and sent a
line over the wire to Helen:
“Keep your delegation at home. He’s
coming on the 11.55.”
Then he read the three telegrams Harkless had given
him. They were all from Plattville:
“Sorry cannot oblige. Present incumbent
tenacious. Unconditionally refuses surrender.
Delicate matter. No hope for K. H. But don’t
worry. Everything all right.
“WARREN
SMITH.”
“Harkless, if you have the strength to walk,
come down before the convention. Get here by
10.47. Looks bad. Come if it kills you.
“K.
H.”
“You entrusted me with sole responsibility for
all matters pertaining to ‘Herald.’
Declared yourself mere spectator. Does this permit
your interfering with my policy for the paper?
Decline to consider any proposition to relieve me
of my duties without proper warning and allowance
of time.
“H.
FISBEE.”
THE GREAT HARKLESS COMES HOME
The accommodation train wandered languidly through
the early afternoon sunshine, stopping at every village
and almost every country post-office on the line;
the engine toot-tooting at the road crossings; and,
now and again, at such junctures, a farmer, struggling
with a team of prancing horses, would be seen, or,
it might be, a group of school children, homeward
bound from seats of learning. At each station,
when the train came to a stand-still, some passenger,
hanging head and elbows out of his window, like a
quilt draped over a chair, would address a citizen
on the platform:
