Given a right direction, the wind in its sand-drifting will build you one of those sand-cones almost while you wait.

The sand-cone will grow as a stocking grows beneath the clicking needles of some ancient dame.

Again, the wind, reversing in the dance, will unravel the sand-cone and carry it off to powder it about the plain.

The sand-cone will vanish in a night, as it came in a night, and what was its site will be swept as flatly clean as any threshing floor.
Thus was it with Senator Hanway on a certain fateful day in May, and less than a fortnight before the coming together of the convention which should pass on the business of a Presidential candidate.

Compared with that other sand-cone of politics, to wit, Governor Obstinate, Senator Hanway outtopped him as a tree outtops a shrub.