The new Governor had passed from sight， and a momentlater his voice came to the ear of the lonely man in theexecutive office. Some friends had stopped him just outsidethe Governor’s door with a laughing “Here’s hoping You’ll doas much for us in the new office as you did in the old，” and thenew Governor replied， buoyantly： “Oh， but I’m going to do agreat deal more！”
The man within the office smiled a little wistfully and witha sigh sat down before his desk. The clock now pointed tothirteen minutes of twelve； they would be asking for himupstairs. There were some scraps of paper on his desk and hethrew them into the waste-basket， murmuring： “I can at leastgive him a clean desk.”
He pushed his chair back sharply. A clean desk！ The phraseopened to deeper meanings…. Why not clean it up in earnest？
Why not give him a square deal—a real chance？ Why not signthe contracts？
Again he looked at the clock—not yet ten minutes of twelve.
For ten minutes more he was Governor of the State！ Tenminutes of real governorship！ Might it not make up a little，both to his own soul and to the world， for the years he hadweakly served as another man’s puppet？ The consciousnessthat he could do it， that it was not within the power of any manto stop him， was intoxicating. Why not break the chains now atthe last， and just before the end taste the joy of freedom？
He took up his pen and reached for the inkwell. Withtrembling， excited fingers he unfolded the contracts. He dippedhis pen into the ink； he even brought it down on the paper； andthen the tension broke. He sank back in his chair， a frightened，broken old man.
“Oh， no，” he whispered； “no， not now. It’s—” his head wentlower and lower until at last it rested on the desk—“too late.”
When he raised his head and grew more steady， it was onlyto see the soundness of his conclusion. He had not the rightnow in the final hour to buy for himself a little of glory. Itwould only be a form of self-indulgence. They would callit， and perhaps rightly， hush money to his conscience. Theywould say he went back on them only when he was throughwith them. Oh， no， there would be no more strength in it thanin the average deathbed repentance. He would at least step outwith consistency.
He folded the contracts and put them back into the envelope.
The minute hand now pointed to seven minutes to twelve.
Some one was tapping at the door， and the secretary appearedto say they were waiting for him upstairs. He replied that hewould be there in a minute， hoping that his voice did not soundas strange to the other man as it had to himself.
Slowly he walked to the door leading into the corridor. This，then， was indeed the end； this the final stepping down fromoffice！ After years of what they called public service， he wasleaving it all now with a sense of defeat and humiliation. Alump was in the old man’s throat； his eyes were blurred. “Butyou， Frank Leyman，” he whispered passionately， turning asif for comfort to the other man， “it will be different with you！
They’ll not get you—not you！”
It lifted him then as a great wave—this passionate exultationthat here was one man whom corruption could not claim as herown. Here was one human soul not to be had for a price！ Thereflitted before him again a picture of that seventeen-year-oldboy in the little red schoolhouse， and close upon it came thepicture of this other young man against whom all powers ofcorruption had been turned in vain. With the one it had been theemotional luxury of a sentiment， a thing from life’s actualitiesapart； with the other it was a force that dominated all things else，a force over which circumstances and design could not prevail. “Iknow all about it，” he was saying. “I know about it all！ I knowhow easy it is to fall！ I know how fine it is to stand！”
His sense of disappointment in his own empty， besmirchedcareer was almost submerged then as he projected himself oninto the career of this other man who within the hour wouldcome there in his stead. How glorious was his opportunity，how limitless his possibilities， and how great to his own soulthe satisfaction the years would bring of having done his best！
It had all changed now. That passionate longing to vindicatehimself， add one thing honourable and fine to his own record，had altogether left him， and with the new mood came newinsight and what had been an impulse centred to a purpose.
It pointed to three minutes to twelve as he walked overto his desk， unfolded the contracts， and one by one affixedhis signature. In a dim way he was conscious of how theinterpretation of his first motive would be put upon it， howthey would call him traitor and coward； but that mattered little.
The very fact that the man for whom he was doing it wouldnever see it as it was brought him no pang. And when he hadcarefully blotted the papers， affixed the seal and put themaway， there was in his heart the clean， sweet joy of a childbecause he had been able to do this for a man in whom hebelieved.
The band was playing the opening strains as he closed thedoor behind him and started upstairs.
