Excerpt: ...the Eastern democracy, and Senator Goodman, possessing full power to act for his party in the great West, had met to decide on a Democratic nominee. Dissension threatened. The East favored a man of moderate views on the subject of currency reform; the West and the greater portion of the South stood unanimous for a politician whose success in the coming battle would presage the most radical of measures. Final disagreement between the Democrats of East and West meant certain victory for the Republican Party. And to-day all the country was asking: Have the leaders agreed on a nominee; if so, which one? Senator Groodman, as uncommunicative as a statue, was already speeding back to the far West; and Senator August, equally silent, was on his way home. The newspapers were hysterical in their demands for information; all day the wires leading to Washington had borne message after message imploring news, but only baseless rumors had sped back. And Tom Collins, knowing all this, realized the hopelessness of his task. At the depot he left the car at a jump and dashed into the station. A train on the further track was already crawling from the shed. There was no time for inquiries. He ran for it and swung himself onto the platform of the Pullman. A porter was just closing the vestibule door. "Is Senator August on board?" gasped Tom. The porter didn't know. But he assured Tom that that was the train for New York and so the latter entered the Pullman. The car held seven men and an elderly lady. Tom's idea of a senator was a big man dressed in a black frock coat, a black string tie and a tall silk hat. But there was no one in sight attired in such fashion and Tom paused at a loss. Perhaps it was chance that led him halfway down the aisle and caused him to question a military, middle-aged gentleman who wore a quiet suit of gray tweeds and was deep in a magazine. The face that looked up was shrewd but kindly, albeit it frowned a little at the interruption. "I am...