Oddly enough, he reflected, nothing had "placed" Vetch so forcibly as the brand of that cigar.
"That," observed the young man briefly, "is the penalty of political office." "So long as I was merely a dark horse," said Vetch, "I was afraid to pull on the curb; but now that I've won the race, they'll find that I'm my own master.

Won't you smoke ?" Stephen shook his head.

"Not now.

There is always the next race to be considered, I suppose." The Governor's rugged, rather heavy features hardened suddenly until they looked as if they were formed of some more durable substance than flesh.

Under the thick sandy hair his eyes lost their blueness and appeared as gray as Stephen had once thought them.