world have called up Fitch to
verify the central fact. He couldn't risk it. He scheduled the broadside
for the second morning following.... But there was Io! He had promised.
Well, he was to meet her at a dinner party at the Forbes's. She could
see it then, if she hadn't forgotten.... No; that, too, was a subterfuge
hope. Io never forgot.

As if to assure the resumption of their debate, the talk of the Forbes
dinner table turned to the mayoralty fight. Shrewd judges of events and
tendencies were there; Thatcher Forbes, himself, not the least of them;
it was the express opinion that Laird stood a very good chance of
victory.

"Unless they can definitely pin the Wall Street label on him," suggested
some one.

"That might beat him; it's the only thing that could," another opined.

Hugging his withering phrase to his heart, Banneker felt a growing
exultation.

"Nobody but The Patriot--" began Mrs. Forbes contemptuously, when she
abruptly recalled who was at her table. "The newspapers are doing their
worst, but I think they won't make people believe much of it," she
amended.

"Is Laird really the Wall Street candidate?" inquired Esther Forbes.

Parley Welland, Io's cousin, himself an amateur politician, answered
her: "He is or he isn't, according as you look at it. Masters and his
crowd are mildly for him, because they haven't any objection to a
decent, straight city government, at present. Sometimes they have."

"On that principle, Horace Vanney must have," remarked Jim Maitland.
"He's fighting Laird, tooth and nail, and certainly he represents one
phase of Wall Street activity."

"My revered uncle," drawled Herbert Cressey, "considers that the present
administration is too tender of the working-man--or, rather,
working-woman--when she strikes. Don't let 'em strike; or, if they do
strike, have the police bat 'em on the head."

"What's this administration got to do with Vanney's mills? I thought
they were in Jersey," another diner asked.

"So they are, the main ones. But he's backing some of the local clothing
manufacturers, the sweat-shop lot. They've been having strikes. That
interferes with profits. Uncle wants the good old days of the
night-stick and the hurry-up wagon back. He's even willing to spend a
little money on the good cause."

Io, seated on Banneker's left, turned to him. "Is that true, Ban?"

"I've heard rumors to that effect," he replied evasively.

"Won't it put The Patriot in a queer posi