ive--and smoked sweet-fern and
cornsilk behind the barn. He nagged the School Board until there went
forth an edict prohibiting certain styles of dress; and the mothers of
several unattractive maidens wrote letters to him, and called him a
Christian. The parents of other girls also wrote to him, but he
didn't save the letters. He made a great stir about the Sanitary Code,
and the Pure Food regulations, and although the marketmen began to
murmur discontentedly--and why, indeed, should the grocery cat not
sleep in a bed of her own choosing; and why should not the busy,
curious, thirsty fly have equal right of access with any other
insect?--yet Mr. Mix contrived to hold himself up to the public as a
live reformer, but not a radical, and to the League as a radical but
not a rusher-in where angels fear to tread. It required the
equilibrium of a tight-rope walker, but Mr. Mix had it. Indeed, he
felt as pleased with himself as though he had invented it. And he
observed, with boundless satisfaction, that the membership of the
League was steadily increasing, and that the Mayoralty was mentioned
more frequently. He was aware, of course, that a reform candidate is
always politically anemic, but he was hoping that by the injection of
good-government virus, he might be strong enough to catch a regular
nomination, to boot, and to run on a fusion ticket. From present
indications, it wasn't impossible. And Mr. Mix smirked in his
mirror.

Mirabelle said, with a rolling-up of her mental shirt-sleeves: "Well,
now let's get after something _drastic_. I've heard lots of people say
you ought to get elected to office; well, show 'em what you can do. Of
course, what we've been doing is all _right_, but it's kind of small
potatoes."

Mr. Mix looked executive. "Mustn't go too fast, Miss Starkweather.
Can't afford to make people nervous."

"Humph! People that don't feel guilty, don't feel nervous. I say it's
about time to launch something drastic. Next thing for us to do is to
make the League a state-wide organization, and put through a Sunday
law with teeth in it. That amusement park's got to go. Maybe we'd
better run over to the capital and talk to the Governor."

Mr. Mix was decisively opposed, but he couldn't withstand her. He had
a number of plausible arguments, but she talked them into jelly, and
eventually dragged him to an interview with the Governor. When it was
over, she beamed victoriously.

"There! Didn't I tell you so? He's wi