THE PARDON OF THOMAS WHALEN
The private secretary turned reluctantly from
his open window beside which the trees bathed
their young leaves in the sparkling sunshine of the
June morning to confront the throng that awaited
audience with the governor. The throng was larger
than usual, for the state convention was to be held
on the morrow. Every county in the state was represented
in the crowd that trampled the red carpet,
crushed the leather chairs and blew the smoke of
campaign cigars into the solemn faces of former
governors standing in their massive gilt frames with
their hands on ponderous law books. In one corner
a woman huddled, pinching a handkerchief to her
eyes. Now and then she sobbed aloud. When
Leonard Gilman, the private secretary, saw her he
knew it at once for a pardon case, and paid no fur-
