o side, then said, in a stage whisper
that sent Bennington into a roar of laughter:

"I sick'd 'em!"

Chapter XVI

The Republican caucus or convention was uneventful. Warrington was
nominated for mayor of Herculaneum, with little or no opposition.
Everybody expected it. It was, in the phraseology of the day, cut and
dried. There was no surprise on the part of the public. Still, Senator
Henderson was jubilant; he had nominated his man.

The young candidate's speech, accepting the nomination, was reproduced
in full in all the newspapers, whose editorial writers frankly
admitted that the speech was one of the best heard in Herculaneum in
years. Reporters raked up anecdotes and old photographs; they enlarged
upon the history of his early struggles and his ultimate success; and
long despatches flashed over the wires. The whole continent was more
or less interested in the sudden political ambition of one of its
favorite dramatic writers.

It was true that Warrington's vanity was touched. It always touches
our vanity to be given something for which we have made no struggle
whatever. It was something to be followed by curious newsboys, to be
spoken to respectfully by Tom, Dick and Harry, who erstwhile hadn't
known of his existence. Warrington was human, and he laughed at his
vanity even as it was being gratified.

On the other side the Democrats perfunctorily nominated Donnelly. It
was the best they could do, and Donnelly had nothing to learn. And so
the fight was on. Donnelly went everywhere; so did Warrington. If
Donnelly spoke in the German district, Warrington spoke to the
Italians and in their native tongue. Warrington soon learned how to
shake hands in the manner of a candidate,--to take the whole hand and
squeeze it soundly. The coal-heaver whose hand the dramatist grasped
thereupon returned to his friends with the report that the candidate
had a good grip, that there was nothing namby-pamby about him, for all
his dude clothes. It is the gift of Heaven to win friends and keep
them, and Warrington possessed this gift. His good-humored smile, his
ready persiflage, his ease in all environments, and his common
sense--these were his bucklers. He spoke in dingy halls, on saloon
bars, everywhere and anywhere and at all times. It was a great sight
to see him lightly mount a bar and expound his politics, his nostrils
assailed by cheap tobacco and kerosene lamps. If Donnelly opened a keg
of beer, Warrington opened