man. Once or twice he looked at the governor, and then the silence, the wind and the rain forced him to speak.
"He seemed to be in perfect health when he went away Wednesday," he said.
The silence deepened. The wind threshed the trees and the rain drenched the windows anew. Gilman spoke again. He said:
"The party's lost a good man."
"And I have lost another friend," said the governor. He was growing old.
Without moving, still gazing deeply into the coals, after a little minute, he added:
"He was the most generous man I ever knew."
"Yes; and I believe, after all, when the time came, he would have been with you for the renomination." The governor stretched out his hand to stay Gilman's speech.
"I was not thinking of that, Leonard."
The governor did this gently, as he did all things. Gilman's face reddened—for the fire was growing hot—and silence fell again between them. Gilman felt the silence. He flung his cigarette into the fire. Then he rose.
