y. His
chin was squarer than usual, and his eyes were harder. "You can see
what happened, can't you? Aunt Mirabelle railroaded him through--and
the pompous old fool looks the part--and she let him promise money she
expects to get in August. And I'll bet it hurt him just as much to
promise it as it does me to have him!"

She threw the paper to the floor. "Henry, can't we do _some_thing?
We're only a few hundred dollars short! Can't we make up just _that_
little bit?"

"It's a thousand, now," he said. "A thousand, and we're falling
further behind every time the clock ticks." He retrieved the
_Herald_, and abstractedly smoothed out the pages. "That was a great
spread-eagle speech of Mix's wasn't it? Talking about his model
ordinance, and what he's going to do next year!... Nothing I'd love
better than to give that fellow a dose of his own tonic. But that's
the deuce of it--I can't think how to put it over.... Even if I'm
licked, I wouldn't feel so badly if I just had the personal
satisfaction of making him look like a sick cat. Just once."

"Yes," she said, sorrowfully. "Dad's prophecy didn't seem to work out,
did it?"

"What prophecy was that?"

"Don't you remember? He said if Mr. Mix only had enough rope--"

"Oh, yes. Only Mix declined the invitation. He's handled himself
pretty well; you've got to grant that. There's a lot of people around
here that honestly think he's a first-class citizen. Sometimes I'm
darned if I don't think they _will_ elect him something. And then God
save the Commonwealth! But if they ever realized how far that
League'll go if it ever gets under way, and what a bunch of hocum
Mix's part of it is--" He stopped abruptly, and froze in his place;
and then, to Anna's amazement, he turned to her with a whoop which
could have carried half-way to the Orpheum.

"Henry! What on earth _is_ it?"

Henry snatched up his hat and made for the door. "More rope!" he said,
exultantly, over his shoulder. "_Lots_ more rope--I'll tell you
tonight!"

* * * * *

He arrived at the City Hall before the record room was open, and he
fretted and stamped in the corridor until a youthful clerk with spats,
pimples, and an imitation diamond scarf-pin condescended to listen to
his wants. In twenty minutes he was away again, and he was lucky
enough to catch Judge Barklay before the bailiff had opened court.

"Hello, Henry," said the Judge. "Did you want to see me about
anyt