The senator’s smile was not derisive; it was merely lenient.

“Sat on ’em good and hard, did you?  That’s right, son; don’t you ever be afraid to say what you mean, and to say it straight from the shoulder.  That’s the Blount way, and I reckon we’ve got to keep the family ball rolling—­you and I. Don’t forget that, when you’re making your appeal to those horny-handed sons of toil over yonder at Ophir.  Give ’em straight facts, and back up the facts with figures—­if you happen to have the figures.  When do you pull out for the mining-camp?”

“To-night, at nine-thirty.  I can’t get there in time if I wait for the morning train.”  Then, dismissing the political topic abruptly:  “What do you hear from Professor Anners?”

“Oh, he’s having the time of his life.  I got him a State permit, and scraped him up a bunch of pick-and-shovel men, and he is digging out those fossil skeletons by the wagon-load.”

“And Miss Anners?” pursued Patricia’s lover.

“I shouldn’t wonder if she was having the time of her life, too.  I’ve given her the little four-seated car to call her own while she is out here, and she and Honoria go careering around the country—­breaking the speed limit every minute in the day, I reckon.”

“I’m glad you are giving her a good time,” said Evan, and he looked glad.  Then he added regretfully:  “I wish I could get a chance to chase around a little with them.  I have seen almost nothing of them since they came West.  I should think Mrs. Blount might bring Patricia down to the city once in a while.”

“Well, now! perhaps the young woman doesn’t want to come,” laughed the senator.  “You told me you hadn’t got her tag, son, and I’m beginning to believe it’s the sure-enough truth.  What has she got against you, anyway?”

“Nothing; nothing in the wide world, save that I don’t fit into her scheme for her life-work.”

The senator was eating calmly through his dessert.  “If you hadn’t made up your mind so pointedly to dislike Honoria, you might be getting a few tips on that ‘career’ business along about now, son,” he remarked, and Evan was silent—­had to be silent.  For, you see, he had been charging Patricia’s continued absence from the capital to nothing less than spiteful design on the part of his father’s wife.

It was at the cigar smoking in the lobby, after the young man had made his preparations for the journey and was waiting for the train-caller’s announcement, that the senator said quite casually:  “It’s too bad you’re going out of town to-night, son.  Honoria ’phoned me a little spell ago that she and Patricia would be driving down after their dinner to take in the Weatherford reception.  You’ll have to miss ’em, won’t you?”

The announcer was chanting the call for the night train west, and the joint-debater got up and thrust his hand-bag savagely into the hand of the nearest porter.

“Isn’t that just my infernal luck!” he lamented.  Then:  “Give them my love, and tell them I hope they will stay until I get back.”