"That's him!" cried a voice.
"Who?"
"The fellow that writes; Henderson's man."
"Salt licks for him!" came in derision.
"He'll give Donnelly a run for the money."
"Not in a thousand years!"
All this amused Warrington.
"How d' y' do, Mr. Warrington?"
A hand touched the prospective candidate on the arm. Warrington saw
Osborne's rubicund nose.
"So you're out, too, Mr. Osborne?"
"I never let meetings go by, Richard. Good evening, Mr. Bennington. A
man with ten millions doesn't look any different from ordinary
mortals, does he? But he is different, or he wouldn't have that
barrel. A million is like a light-house; it attracts all sorts of
birds."
Warrington laughed and went on. Once or twice he lost the dog, but
Jove managed to turn up each time.
"We'll stand at the left," said John; "it's nearer the exits."
"Just as you say. I wish I'd left the dog at home. He's a nuisance in
a crowd like this."
They presently stood with their backs to the wall and looked toward
the stage. Donnelly was already speaking about the great man who was
that night to address them.
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