per
said that Mr. Grover's death was not entirely unexpected, as his health
had been failing for some time, the deceased having passed his
seventieth birthday.

McSorley, the Liberal editor, being an Irishman, was not without
humour, but Evans, the other one, revelled in it. He was like the
little boys who stick pins in frogs, not that they bear the frogs any
ill-will, but for the fun of seeing them jump. He would sit half the
night over his political editorials, smiling grimly to himself, and
when he threw himself back in his chair and laughed like a boy the
knife was turned in someone!

One day Mr. James Ducker, lately retired farmer, sometimes insurance
agent, read in the Winnipeg Telegram that his friend the Honourable
Thomas Snider had chaperoned an Elk party to St. Paul. Mr. Ducker had
but a hazy idea of the duties of a chaperon, but he liked the sound of
it, and it set him thinking. He remembered when Tom Snider had entered
politics with a decayed reputation, a large whiskey bill, and about
$2.20 in cash. Now he rode in a private car, and had a suite of rooms
at the Empire, and the papers often spoke of him as "mine host" Snider.
Mr. Ducker turned over the paper and read that the genial Thomas had
replied in a very happy manner to a toast at the Elks' banquet.
Whereupon Mr. Ducker became wrapped in deep thought, and during this
passive period he distinctly heard his country's call! The call came in
these words: "If Tom Snider can do it, why not me?"

The idea took hold of him. He began to brush his hair artfully over the
bald spot. He made strange faces at his mirror, wondering which side of
his face would be the best to have photographed for his handbills. He
saw himself like Cincinnatus of old called from the plough to the
Senate, but he told himself there could not have been as good a thing
in it then as there is now, or Cincinnatus would not have come back to
the steers.

Mr. Ducker's social qualities developed amazingly. He courted his
neighbours assiduously, sending presents from his garden, stopping to
have protracted conversations with men whom he had known but slightly
before. Every man whose name was on the voters' list began to have a
new significance for him.

There was one man whom he feared--that was Evans, editor of the
Conservative paper. Sometimes when his fancy painted for him a gay and
alluring picture of carrying "the proud old Conservative banner that
has suffered defeat, but, thank Go