ame and we
hardly worried a bit. The result was 189 to 197 in favor of Miss Hicks.
Every independent man and every bang-up-to-date girl in college voted
for her.

Of course it looks simple enough now, but why couldn't we see it then?
We supposed the real girls knew that it was a case of college
patriotism. And, of course, it was a low-lived trick for Miss Hicks to
float around the last day and spread the impression that we'd never
loved them except for their votes. She simply traded constituencies with
us, that's all. Take it coming or going, year in or year out, you
couldn't beat that girl. I'll bet she goes out to Washington state and
gets elected governor some day.

I went over to Browning Hall the night after the election, ready to tell
Miss Hicks just what everybody thought of her. I was prepared to tell
her that every athletic team in college was going to disband and that
anarchy would be declared in the morning. She came down as pleasant as
ever and held out her hand.

"Don't say it, please," she said, "because I'm going to tell you
something. I'm not coming back next year."

"Not coming back!" said I, gulping down a piece of relief as big as an
apple.

"No," she said, "I'm--I'm going to be married this summer. I've--I've
been engaged all this year to a man back home, but I wanted to come back
and learn something about politics. He's a lawyer."

"Well, you learned enough to suit you, didn't you?" I asked.

"Oh, yes," she said with a giggle. "Wasn't it fun, though! My father
will be so pleased. He's the chairman of the congressional committee out
at home and he's always told me an awful lot about politics. I've
enjoyed this year so much."

"Well, I haven't," I said; "but I hope to enjoy next year." And then I
took half an hour to tell her that, in spite of the fact that she was
the most arrant, deceitful, unreliable, two-faced and scuttling
politician in the world, she was almost incredibly nice. She listened
quite patiently, and at the end she held up her fingers. They'd been
crossed all the time.

No, that's the last I ever saw of her, Miss Allstairs. She left before
Commencement. She sent me an invitation to the wedding. I'll bet she
didn't quite get the significance of the magnificent silver set we
Siwash boys sent. We sent it to the groom.

That was the end of women dominion at Siwash. There wasn't a rag of the
movement left next fall. But we boys never entirely forgot what happened
to us, and i