"You got Evan out of the way?" whispered the wife.
The husband nodded. "That was easy. I passed the word to Steuchfield,
and he helped out on that--invited Evan to come to Ophir to speak in a
joint debate. He left on the night train."
"And Hathaway? Will he be here?"
"He is here. Gantry has turned him down, according to instructions, and
he is clawing about in the air, trying to get a fresh hold. I bluffed
him; told him he'd have to make his peace with you for something, I
didn't know what, before I could talk to him."
Miss Anners was watching the elevator signal glow as the car descended,
and the wife's voice sank to a still lower whisper.
"He will be at the Weatherfords'?" she inquired eagerly.
"He is right sure to be; I told him you would be there."
The small plotter nodded approval.
"Give us half an hour to dress, and have the car ready," she directed;
and then the senator put the two into the elevator and turned away to
finish his cigar.
X
IN THE HERBARIUM
The Weatherfords, multimillionaire mine-people, and so newly rich that
the crisp bank-notes fairly crackled when Mrs. Weatherford spent them,
kept their lackeyed and liveried state in a castle-like mansion in Mesa
Circle, the most expensive, if not the most aristocratic,
no-thoroughfare of the capital city. Weatherford, the father, egged on
by Mrs.
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