Peter Knight flung himself into the decrepit arm-chair beside the center-table and growled: "Isn't that just my luck? And me a Democrat for twenty years. There's nothing in politics, Jimmy." His son James smiled crookedly, with a languid tolerance bespeaking amusement and contempt. James prided himself upon his forbearance, and it was rarely indeed that he betrayed more than a hint of the superiority which he felt toward his parent. "Politics is all right, provided you're a good picker," he said, with all the assurance of twenty-two, "but you fell off the wrong side of the fence, and you're sore."