two; if Donnelly gave a picnic, Warrington
gave two. And once he presented free matinee tickets to a thousand
women. This was a fine stroke of policy. When a man wins a woman to
his cause, he wins a valiant champion. Here, then, were a thousand
tongues in his service.

His work put enthusiasm into the rank and file of the party, and soon
all half-heartedness disappeared and dissensions vanished. He
furnished foot-ball suits for the newsboys, torch-light regimentals
for the young men's Republican clubs; he spent his own money freely
but judiciously; and all the while Donnelly was not far behind. For
the first time in the history of local politics the two parties went
to work with solid ranks. It promised to be a great campaign.
Warrington's influence soon broke the local confines; and the
metropolitan newspapers began to prophesy that as Herculaneum went, so
would go the state.

Warrington's theatrical manager came up from New York and said he
wanted that play at once. The dramatist declared that there would be
no play that season. The manager threatened a lawsuit; Warrington
remained unmoved. His first duty was to his party; after the first
Tuesday in November he would see. This argument found its way to
reportorial ears, with the result that it merely added to the young
candidate's growing popularity.

It was only occasionally that he saw the Benningtons. His nights were
devoted to speech-making or conferences. Sometimes, however, on his
way home late at night, he would walk up as far as the old house and
look up at the windows; and if he saw a light in Patty's room he would
pause for a few minutes, then turn about, Jove limping at his heels.
Patty Bennington! The one idyl in his noisy life, the one uplifting
influence! He knew that he was not making this fight for clean
politics because his heart was in it, but because Patty's was. It is
thus that women make the world better, indirectly. Once or twice he
had seen Patty in the gallery at mass meetings; but, hurry as he
might, he never could get around to the entrance in time to speak to
her.

As for McQuade, he knew that between him and that gentleman the war
had only begun. He was constantly wondering how McQuade would act; but
so far as he could see, McQuade had absolutely nothing to stand on.
McQuade would have to tunnel; he could not carry on the war above
ground. McQuade would never forgive the result of the dog fight. There
had been so much raillery in the