"But you have given us the devil's own chase," said the judge.

"It is nearly midnight," said Mr. Amidon. "Have I been out all the afternoon?"

"All the afternoon!" exclaimed Blodgett. "Yes, and all day, and all yesterday, and the day before, and other days! You've been raising merry Ned, Florian, in your Bra.s.sfield capacity. Do you want to know what you've done?"

"_Do_ I?" he cried. "Tell me all at once!"

"Well, for one thing," said the old lawyer, "Edgington's long-incubated scheme has hatched, and you've been through a strenuous mayoralty contest with Colonel McCorkle, and have swept the board. Your friends insisted on it, you know, and you couldn't decline."

"Friends!" sneered Amidon. "I tell you, the whole thing is hypocrisy and graft. That villain Bra.s.sfield has a scheme for stealing the streets. I told Edgington I wouldn't----"

"Yes," said the judge, "and he took you at your word and trotted McCorkle out, and you trimmed them up. But it's all made up with him, now, and you and he and Alvord are as thick as thieves. You've got a jewel of a campaign manager in that man Alvord----"

"Judge," cried Amidon, "I want you to get up a letter of withdrawal--you have watched the miserable business, and know more of it than I do--one that will make me as little ridiculous as possible, you know. I don't care for the people in general, but there are some whose good opinion I prize----"

"I know, Florian," said the judge. "I know. But you can't expect to cut a very good figure, you know."

"Well, manage it as well as you can, and--I suppose you've watched me?"

he continued. "Why did you let me go this way! Have I been up to Miss Waldron's?"

"Once or twice for a few minutes," answered Madame le Claire. "You have been very busy indeed; and yesterday Miss Waldron went out of town."

"I think," said Judge Blodgett, "that you will find a letter from her in your room. Alderson brought it up from the counting-house."

"Well, you must excuse me," said Mr. Amidon. "I want to talk this all over with you early in the morning; but I must go to my room now. No, thank you, Clara, I really can not stay to your supper. To-morrow you must tell me how you kidnapped me--I never can repay you for your faithful service to me. Good night!"

The discerning reader has already antic.i.p.ated that Mr. Amidon went straight to the letter and opened it.

"Dearest Eugene," it said, "I want to give you a word to say that I am proud of the love and confidence which every one has for you, and to say that I do not regard the place to which you are to be elected as unimportant, or one which you should decline. Of all men you are best able to protect our town against corruption, and to lift its civic life to a higher plane. I wish I might help your fellow townsmen to confer _you_ upon _it_. Maybe I can help in cheering you along the way after this is done.

"I have all sorts of pride in and ambition for you. Hitherto, you have confined yourself too closely to the practical and productively utilitarian. I shall watch with all the interest you can desire me to feel, this new career of yours, beginning so modestly and so much against your will; but reaching, I feel sure, to the state and national capitals.

"Do you know, I have always imagined myself capable of founding Primrose Leagues, and becoming a real political force? Spend the afternoon with me Sunday, and we'll talk it over--come early.

"Yours in loving partizanship,

"Elizabeth."

Florian sat for a long time pondering over this letter. It was the thing about which his thought centered the next morning. When the judge said that he was at work on the letter of withdrawal, Amidon remarked that there was no hurry, as he should not use the letter until after a conference with Miss Waldron. Then he went to spend his Sunday afternoon with his fiancee, according to her invitation.

The "dear Eugene," and the tone of co-proprietorship in this new "career" of his which seemed so deliciously intimate in her letter, faded from his memory as he faced her in her home, so stately, so kind, so far from fond. Her rebellion from those mad kisses of his on his first visit had thoroughly intimidated him. He felt, now, that he must win his way to such blisses by slow degrees, as if the Bra.s.sfield life had never been for her more than for him. So they talked over the cool and sensible things they might have discussed had she been his grandmother; among others, the campaign.

She had tremendously good ideas as to city government. Amidon had long entertained similar notions, and that their unity of sentiment might appear, each wrote answers to a list of questions which they made up, and Amidon was hugely delighted to find that they agreed precisely.

"Why not make it your platform?" she asked.

"You mean, a public manifesto?" he queried.

"Surely," said she. "The people ought to know what we represent.

Print it, so all may be well informed."

"But that would be an acceptance of the nomination," said he.

"Hardly," she replied. "We have already accepted, and that's settled.

But it will raise the contest to one of principle. The best elements of society are with you--Doctor Bulkon might as well have mentioned your name as he described the ideal candidate to-day--and such a n.o.ble declaration from you will fill them with joy. Oh, don't you think so?"

"Elizabeth," said he, "if I take this office, it will be for your sake.

I shall withdraw, or run on your platform."

"Oh, you can't withdraw," she a.s.severated. "Not now!"

The adoring glances, in which she constantly surprised him, mitigated somewhat the pique which his ceremoniously respectful parting raised in her heart. She stood looking at the hand he had kissed, and wondering if this was the Eugene of days gone by, but was not quite able to think him cold to her. This was true at all events, she thought, the offensiveness--half-reserve, half-familiarity--the curious impression of strangeness which so nearly caused a breach between them on his return from New York--that was gone, at least. This new att.i.tude of his--well, that was to be considered. In some respects, the change had its element of piquancy--like a love affair with an innocent boy where the wiles of experience had been expected.

In the meantime, Mr. Alvord was happy. He had opened "Bra.s.sfield Headquarters," over which he presided with a force of clerks who were busy with poll-books and other clerkly-looking properties. "But," said he to Slater, who called to see him about funds for putting in order the links of the Bellevale Golf and Boating Club against the coming of spring, "there's nothing to it. With the preachers exhorting for us and the wet-goods push and sports plugging enthusiastically, and not a drop of water spilling from either shoulder, the outlook couldn't be better. Of course, we have to go through the form of a contest, but there's no real fight in it."

"I don't see how there can be," said Mr. Slater. "But what's all this work for?"

"Well," said Alvord, "we've got to keep up the organization, and so we poll the town. It gives some men employment for a few days that would be sore if they didn't get it. Then we have to send out the _piece de resistance_ for keg parties of evenings. The way the pet.i.tions come in for kegs is surprising. A man calls and says his name's Pat Burke, or Karl Schmidt, and that they've organized a club for the study of public questions, meeting every night at Jones' c.o.ke Ovens or Webber's Chicken House, and they expect to have up the mayoralty question for debate to-night--only he generally calls it the 'morality' question--and could we send them a barrel of beer? We know that there's only a corporal's guard, mostly aliens, but we send 'em a pony. Another puts up a spiel that he's been spending his own money electioneering for Bra.s.sfield--he never had over fifty cents in the world, but he's spent forty dollars--and he can't stand the financial strain any longer. He's palpitating with love for Bra.s.sfield. He knows where there's twenty-five votes he can get, if he can have say ten dollars for booze--he'll leave it entirely to us. We know he's a fake, of course, but we give him a V. We've got to spend Bra.s.s's roll somehow."

"Where's he keeping himself?" asked Slater. "I haven't seen him since Sat.u.r.day. Isn't he out shaking hands?"

"No," was the answer. "He'd rather buy what he wants, and not do any canva.s.sing. It isn't necessary, anyhow. That supper we arranged for before he was put up will bring him into contact with some of the strongest lines of influence, and will finish the reconciliation with Edgington. Then Mrs. Pumphrey's reception and some other affairs will be all the publicity we'll need. No noise for ours, anyhow. The gum-shoe is our emblem, and we don't let our right hand know what our left wing is driving at. 'Gene leaves it all to me, and don't ever show up here. That girl business--the strawberry blonde, you know--seems all lost sight of, and there ain't a cloud in the sky."

A clerk entered and informed Alvord that a man named Amidon wanted to speak to him at the telephone.

"Another debating society wants irrigating, I s'pose," said he.

"h.e.l.lo! This is headquarters. . . Yes, it's Alvord speaking to you. . . . Oh, is it you, Bra.s.s? They said it was a man named Amidon.

Wire's crossed, I s'pose. Worst telephone service I ever saw. All right, go ahead."

Here followed a long pause broken occasionally by "yes," and "I know,"

and "no," from Alvord. At last, in tones of amazement, he broke forth in a storm of protest.

"What! Publish a platform?" he shouted. "Are you crazy? No, I most emphatically don't think so. Why--now listen a moment, 'Gene,--I've got the best still hunt framed up you ever saw. We're winning in a walk. . . . Well, if you want to make your position clear, I know I can trust you to make your manifesto the right thing. But mind, I advise against it! . . . Yes, sure, as many things as you want to talk about, old man. . . . Yes, I've heard about the idea; but never saw it indorsed by any practical people. . . . Yes. . . . No. No! . . .

_No!_ . . . I tell you NO! . . . Why, you know we've spent sums that we couldn't possibly publish. What have you been drinking, 'Gene?

Here, d.a.m.n you, this is all a josh! Come down here and I'll buy. . . .

What's that? You really want to publish a schedule of your election expenses? Well, I'll keep the schedule, and you can print 'em if you want to. Come up to headquarters, and I'll show 'em to you. Good-by!"

Alvord hung up the receiver, and went back to his inner office.

"By George, Slater," said he, "Bra.s.sfield is absolutely the most deceptive josher I ever saw. He had me going just now by pretending that he was about to publish a platform of principles, and a statement of campaign disburs.e.m.e.nts. So blooming solemn it gave me the shivers for a minute. List of disburs.e.m.e.nts: think of it, Slater! And a platform, in our kind of politics!"

XX