Governor Mike Pence, of Indiana, walked onstage Wednesday night at the Republican National Convention, in Cleveland, to illustrate what it looks like to make a deal with Donald Trump and then put aside every priority but keeping your side of it. Many Republican leaders have compromised themselves in getting on the Trump Train. A number of them seem to believe that if they don't mention his name too often in their speeches (Paul Ryan), or if they address the Convention by video, rather than in person (Marco Rubio), they will have some shred of deniability in the event that the campaign ends in a crash, and just enough evidence of accommodation to collect some reward, or exemption, if Trump does come through. It is not a satisfying bargain, which may be why Senator Ted Cruz's self-congratulatory gaming of it, in his non-endorsement speech earlier in the evening, enraged so many compromised Republicans. Pence is in a different position. He is putting his name down not only in the rolls of Trump supporters but on the signs that circle the Convention floor and, soon, right below Trump's on a ballot.

"Donald Trump gets it. He's the genuine article," Pence said. "He's a doer in a game usually reserved for the talkers." Trump was "distinctly American," adding, "Where else would an independent spirit like him find a following but the land of the free and the home of the brave," as if Trump danced in open fields at sunrise, with flowers in his hair, or guided his motorcycle across the desert at night, hunched over the handlebars, a clutch of riders behind him. Pence, a man who conformed so completely to the cues of the Convention that his tie matched the background projected behind him on the stage, always looks as though he is scanning the horizon, with eyes that could be drawn with a few quick charcoal strokes, for just such an apparition. He called Trump an "uncalculating truth-teller" who didn't care about political correctness. "Until now, he has had to do it all by himself, against all odds," Pence said, of his running mate—whose inherited money has been alternately increased and squandered—but help was on the way. Hillary Clinton, he said, was “disqualified” by Benghazi, among other things. "We have but one choice, and that man is ready," Pence said. "This team is ready."

Pence called Trump an "outsider," and, in doing so, assumed the trappings of an insider there to bestow an institutional blessing on an unconventional candidate. In addition to being a governor, Pence spent a dozen years in Congress, becoming a part of the Republican leadership, and Paul Ryan, in one of the few moments of the Convention when he didn't look put upon, introduced him as a friend. Yet Pence had come to Congress as an early Tea Party type, seen as marginal, particularly on issues such as reproductive rights, gun rights, and the suspicion of regulation as a harbinger of tyranny. Then, over the years, the Party's policies seeped in his direction. His nomination as the Vice-Presidential candidate is a recognition of who controls the G.O.P’s wider agenda. Ryan had said that Pence came from “the heart of the conservative movement and the heart of America,” and on Wednesday night he began his service as an ambassador to both places. Based on his performance, he might do Trump some good.

Governor Mike Pence, of Indiana, speaking on Wednesday night at the Republican National Convention. Photograph by Philip Montgomery for The New Yorker Photograph by Philip Montgomery for The New Yorker

Pence acted like a windup-toy running mate, offering a self-deprecating joke (Trump is so charismatic that when he chose Pence "he was just looking for some balance on the ticket"), a catchy attack line ("Clinton wants a better title, and I would, too, if I were already Secretary of the Status Quo"), an emotional tribute to his family (his mother, "the light of my life"; his wife, "the love of my life"; and his three children, a student, a writer, and a Marine, "The most important job I'll ever have is spelled D-A-D"); and his faith; and an awed description of the candidate's ("You can't fake good kids!"). The Democrats were "helpless to figure out our nominee.” Pence had endorsed Cruz in the primaries and once claimed to be offended by Trump’s proposed ban on Muslims entering the country. Last night, that was all forgotten. The prospective Vice-Presidency, apparently, is a powerful inducement.

When Trump had been “taking my measure” as a possible running mate, Pence said, "I did some observing myself." He concluded that Trump could be “a little rough with politicians on the stage, and I bet we see that again. But I’ve seen this good man up close, his utter lack of pretense, his respect for the people who work for him, and his devotion to his family.”

Nobody had to wait long for the roughness. Ted Cruz had been widely expected to endorse Trump, and in his speech he had bolstered that impression by drawing an alarming picture of Hillary Cinton. But then he offered a circumlocution about voting one's conscience "up and down he ticket," which elicited boos and chants of "We want Trump!" Cruz smiled; he always seems to drink in a crowd's disdain, as if it were sunlight. Perhaps he expected that he would be greeted as a liberator. More likely, he was mentally composing an ode to his bravery, in facing down the Trumpian mob, that he planned to have his own running mate deliver in 2020. The bitter heckling had another effect as well: it dismantled Republican alibis about where the heart of the Convention really lay, and what the Party's representatives really thought. These delegates did not react like political hostages. Although there were small pockets of support for Cruz, the moment it became clear that he would not endorse Trump he lost the room—expelled from Trump's Party. Trump reacted by entering his box while Cruz was still speaking, as if no one needed to listen to what was being said, a gesture that he followed up later with a scornful tweet about the meaninglessness of the senator from Texas.

Pence may have had the headlines stolen from him by Cruz, but the change in the dynamics in the hall seemed, oddly, to work in his favor. This was an assembly of delegates eager to feel their own Trump loyalty reflected, acknowledged, and cheered—polished clean of any Cruz smirches. Newt Gingrich, who spoke between Cruz and Pence, offered an intellectual rationalization—Cruz had said to vote for a protector of the Constitution, and as Newt saw it that could only mean Trump—priming them for the emotional self-flattery of cheering loudly for Pence, the big man's running mate. This time, when they chanted "We want Trump!," they were compensated with tales about how he had never "turned his back" on ordinary working people, was good to his employees, and might be some kind of physiological wonder: after all the attacks, he was "standing stronger than ever before—the man just doesn't quit." As Pence spoke, delegates also chanted "We Like Mike" and "Huge! Huge! Huge!," after he used the word to quantify the changes that would sweep the country in the wake of a Trump victory. Many shouted, about Hillary Clinton, "Lock her up!," which has become a mantra of this Convention. When Pence heard it, he smiled as broadly as he did all night. After he finished speaking, Trump came onstage to pat him on the back and give a thumbs-up. Pence lowered his head in acknowledgement. He was the image of humble gratitude.