Hector had turned Trimmer's greatest
danger into the means of victory. The Trimmer people led one of those
extraordinary hysterical processions round the aisles that you see
sometimes in a convention (a thing I never get used to), and it was
all Trimmer, or rather, it was all Hector. Trimmer was nominated on
the first ballot.
There was a recess, and I hurried out, meaning to slip round to Joe
Lane's for a moment to find out how he was. I'd seen the doctor in the
morning and he said his patient had passed a good night and that Miss
Rainey was still there. "I think she's going to stay," he added, and
smiled and shook hands with me.
Joe's old darkey cook let me in, and, after a moment, came to say I
might go into Mr. Lane's room; Mr. Lane wanted to see me.
Joe was lying very flat on his back, but with his face turned toward
the door, and beside him sat Laura Rainey, their thin hands clasped
together. I stopped on the threshold with the door half opened.
"Come in," said Joe weakly. "Hector made it, I'm sure."
"Yes," I answered, and in earnest. "He's a great man."
Joe's face quivered with a pain that did not come from his hurt.
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