rop in after eliction, and the book
in press," he remarked; "and I hope you'll give him a good photograph.
This's for you, I'll take this to Tim myself," and he handed the pen for
Mr. Crewe to sign with.

Mr. Crewe read over the agreement carefully, as a business man should,
before putting his signature to it. And then the senator, with renewed
invitations for Mr. Crewe to call on him when he came to Newcastle, took
his departure. Afterwards Mr. Crewe remained so long in reflection that
his man Waters became alarmed, and sought him out and interrupted his
revery.

The next morning Mrs. Pomfret, who was merely "driving by" with her
daughter Alice and Beatrice Chillingham, spied Mr. Crewe walking about
among the young trees he was growing near the road, and occasionally
tapping them with his stout stick. She poked her coachman in the back
and cried:--"Humphrey, you're such an important man now that I despair
of ever seeing you again. What was the matter last night?"

"A politician from Newcastle," answered Mr. Crewe, continuing to tap the
trees, and without so much as a glance at Alice.

"Well, if you're as important as this before you're elected, I can't
think what it will be afterwards," Mrs. Pomfret lamented. "Poor dear
Humphrey is so conscientious. When can you come, Humphrey?"

"Don't know," said Mr. Crewe; "I'll try to come tonight, but I may be
stopped again. Here's Waters now."

The three people in Mrs. Pomfret's victoria were considerably impressed
to see the dignified Waters hurrying down the slope from the house
towards them. Mr. Crewe continued to tap the trees, but drew a little
nearer the carriage.

"If you please, sir," said Waters, "there's a telephone call for you
from Newcastle. It's urgent, sir."

"Who is it?"

"They won't give their names, sir."

"All right," said Mr. Crewe, and with a grin which spoke volumes for
the manner in which he was harassed he started towards the house--in no
great hurry, however. Reaching the instrument, and saying "Hello" in
his usually gracious manner, he was greeted by a voice with a decided
Hibernian-American accent.

"Am I talkin' to Mr. Crewe?"

"Yes."

"Mr. Humphrey Crewe?"

"Yes--yes, of course you are. Who are you?"

"I'm the president of the Paradise Benevolent and Military Association,
Mr. Crewe. Boys that work in the mills, you know," continued the voice,
caressingly. "Sure you've heard of us. We're five hundred strong, and
all of us good Repu