“Tom,” he said, “can you come in to-morrow about this time?  If you can’t, I’ll go to your office if you will let me know when you’ll be in.  There’s a matter of business I want to talk to you about.”

Tom pulled out his watch.

“I’ve got to catch a train for Mercer,” he replied, “but I will come in in the morning and see you.”

A quarter of an hour later Austen went down the narrow wooden flight of stairs into the street, and as he emerged from the entry almost bumped into the figure of a young man that was hurrying by.  He reached out and grasped the young man by the collar, pulling him up so short as almost to choke him.

“Hully gee!” cried the young man whose progress had been so rudely arrested.  “Great snakes!” (A cough.) “What’re you tryin’ to do?  Oh,” (apologetically) “it’s you, Aust.  Let me go.  This day ain’t long enough for me.  Let me go.”

Austen kept his grip and regarded Mr. Tooting thoughtfully.

“I want to speak to you, Ham,” he said; “better come upstairs.”

“Say, Aust, on the dead, I haven’t time.  Pardriff’s waitin’ for some copy now.”

“Just for a minute, Ham,” said Austen; “I won’t keep you long.”

“Leggo my collar, then, if you don’t want to choke me.  Say, I don’t believe you know how strong you are.”

“I didn’t know you wore a collar any more, Ham,” said Austen.

Mr. Tooting grinned in appreciation of this joke.

“You must think you’ve got one of your Wild West necktie parties on,” he gasped.  “I’ll come.  But if you love me, don’t let the boys in Hilary’s office see me.”

“They use the other entry,” answered Austen, indicating that Mr. Tooting should go up first—­which he did.  When they reached the office Austen shut the door, and stood with his back against it, regarding Mr. Tooting thoughtfully.

At first Mr. Tooting returned the look with interest swagger—­aggression would be too emphatic, and defiance would not do.  His was the air, perhaps, of Talleyrand when he said, “There seems to be an inexplicable something in me that brings bad luck to governments that neglect me:”  the air of a man who has made a brilliant coup d’etat.  All day he had worn that air—­since five o’clock in the morning, when he had sprung from his pallet.  The world might now behold the stuff that was in Hamilton Tooting.  Power flowed out of his right hand from an inexhaustible reservoir which he had had the sagacity to tap, and men leaped into action at his touch.  He, the once, neglected, had the destiny of a State in his keeping.

Gradually, however, it became for some strange reason difficult to maintain that aggressive stare upon Austen Vane, who shook his head slowly.

“Ham, why did you do it?” he asked.

“Why?” cried Mr. Tooting, fiercely biting back a treasonable smile.  “Why not?  Ain’t he the best man in the State to make a winner?  Hasn’t he got the money, and the brains, and the get-up-and-git?  Why, it’s a sure thing.  I’ve been around the State, and I know the sentiment.  We’ve got ’em licked, right now.  What have you got against it?  You’re on our side, Aust.”