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That made me a little ugly. “Oh, no,” I said. “He can make plenty in Congress outside of his salary, can’t he? I understand some of them do.”

Of course Trimmer didn’t lose his temper; instead, he laughed out loud, and then put his hand on my shoulder.

“Look here,” he said. “I’m his friend and you’re his cousin. He’s one of my own crowd and I have his best interests at heart. That isn’t the girl for him. He tells me that, for a long while, she used to advise him against having too much to do with me, until he showed her that winning my influence in his favour was his only chance to rise. Now, if you have his best interests at heart, as I have, you’ll help persuade him to let her go. Why shouldn’t he marry better? She’s not so young any longer, and she’s pretty much lost her looks. And then, you know people will talk–“

“Talk about what?” I said.

“Well, if he goes to Congress, and, with his prospects, throws himself away on a skinny little old-maid school-teacher in the backwoods, one that he’s been making love to for years, they might say almost anything. Why can’t he hand her over to Joe Lane? I’m sure–“

“That’ll do,” I interrupted roughly. “I suppose you’ve been talking that way to Hector?”

“Why, certainly. I have his best interests at–“

“Good-day, sir!” I said, and turned in at the hotel and left him, with Hugo Siffles’s little bright pig’s eyes peeking at me round Trimmer’s shoulder.

Sore enough I was, and cursing Trimmer and Hector in my heart, so that when some one knocked on my door, while I was washing up for supper, I said “Come in!” as if I were telling a dog to get out.

It was Joe Lane and he was pretty drunk. He walked over to the bed and caught himself unsteadily once or twice. I’d never seen him stagger before. He didn’t speak until he had sat down on the coverlet; then he shaded his eyes with his hand and stared at me as if he wanted to make sure that it was I.

“I’ve just been down to Hugo Siffles’s drugstore,” he said, speaking very slowly and carefully, “and Hugo was telling a crowd about a conver–conversation between you and Passley Trimmer. He said Trimmer said Hector Ransom ought to drop Miss Rainey–and ‘hand her over to Joe Lane,’ Is that true?”

“Yes,” I answered. “The beast said that.”

“There was more,” Joe said heavily. “More that im–implied–might be taken to imply scandal, which I believe Trimmer did not seriously intend–but thought–thought might be used as an argument with Hector to persuade him to jilt her?”

“Yes.”

“What was said ex—actly? It is being repeated about town in various forms. I want to know.”

Like a fool I told him the whole thing. I didn’t think, didn’t dream, of course, what was in that poor, drunken, devoted head, and I wanted to blow off my own steam, I was so hot.

He sat very quietly until I had finished; then he took his head in both hands and rocked himself gently to and fro upon the bed, and I saw tears trickling down his cheeks. It was a wretched spectacle in a way, he being drunk and crying like a child, but I don’t think I despised him.

“And she so true,” he sobbed, “so good, so faithful to him! She’s given him her youth, her whole sweet youth–all of it for him!” He got to his feet and went to the door.

“Hold on, Joe,” I said, “where are you going?”

“‘Nother drink!” he said, and closed the door behind him.

After supper I went to work with Henderson and three or four others in a little back-room in our headquarters; and we were hard at it when one of the boys held up his hand and said: “Listen!”

The sounds of a big disturbance came in through the open windows: shouting and yelling, and crowds running in the streets below. The town had been so noisy all evening that I thought nothing of it. “It’s only some delegation getting in,” I said. “Go on with the lists.”