arms across her
knees. It was not altogether studied. He was a born wooer, but he had
his hours of humility, of vague aspirations. His insistent body was
always greater than his soul, but now and then, when he was physically
weary, he had a spiritual moment.

"I love you, little girl," he would say.

It was in one of those moments that she extracted a promise from him.
He had been, from his position on the floor, telling her about the
campaign.

"I don't like your running against my father, Louis."

"He couldn't have got it, anyhow. And he doesn't want it. I do, honey.
I need it in my business. When the election's over you're going to marry
me."

She ignored that.

"I don't like the men who come here, Louis. I wish they were not friends
of yours."

"Friends of mine! That bunch?"

"You are always with them."

"I draw a salary for being with them, honey."

"But what do you draw a salary for?" He was immediately on the alert,
but her eyes were candid and unsuspicious. "They are strikers, aren't
they?"

"Yes."

"Is it legal business?"

"Partly that."

"Louis, is there going to be a general strike?"

"There may be some bad times coming, honey." He bent his head and kissed
her hands, lying motionless in her lap. "I wish you would marry me soon.
I want you. I want to keep you safe."

She drew her hands away.

"Safe from what, Louis?"

He sat back and looked up into her face.

"You must remember, dear, that for all your theories, which are very
sweet, this is a man's world, and men have rather brutal methods of
settling their differences."

"And you advocate brutality?"

"Well, the war was brutal, wasn't it? And you were in a white heat
supporting it, weren't you? How about another war,"--he chose his words
carefully--"just as reasonable and just? You've heard Doyle. You know
what I mean."

"Not now!"

He was amazed at her horror, a horror that made her recoil from him and
push his hands away when he tried to touch her. He got up angrily and
stood looking down at her, his hands in his pockets.

"What the devil did you think all this talk meant?" he demanded. "You've
heard enough of it."

"Does Aunt Elinor know?"

"Of course."

"And she approves?"

"I don't know and I don't care." Suddenly, with one of the quick changes
she knew so well, he caught her hands and drawing her to her feet, put
his arms around her. "All I know is that I love you, and if you say the
word I'll cut the whole b