iracle--in which case it behooved the Northeastern
Railroads to read the handwriting on the wall. Unless--unless the
twenty did not exist! Unless the whole thing were a joke! The Tribune
remembered a time when a signed statement, purporting to come from
a certain Mrs. Amanda P. Pillow, of 22 Blair Street, Newcastle, had
appeared, to the effect that three bottles of Rand's Peach Nectar had
cured her of dropsy. On investigation there was no Blair Street, and
Mrs. Amanda P. Pillow was as yet unborn. The one sure thing about the
statement was that Rand's Peach Nectar could be had, in large or small
quantities, as desired. And the Tribune was prepared to state; on
its own authority, that a Mr. Humphrey Crewe did exist, and might
reluctantly consent to take the nomination for the governorship. In
industry and zeal he was said to resemble the celebrated and lamented
Mr. Rand, of the Peach Nectar.

Ingratitude merely injures those who are capable of it, although
it sometimes produces sadness in great souls. What were Mr. Crewe's
feelings when he read this drivel? When he perused the extracts from the
"Book of Arguments" which appeared (with astonishing unanimity, too!) in
sixty odd weekly newspapers of the State--an assortment of arguments for
each county.

"Brush Bascom's doin' that work now," said Mr. Tooting, contemptuously,
"and he's doin' it with a shovel. Look here! He's got the same squib
in three towns within a dozen miles of each other, the one beginning
'Political conditions in this State are as clean as those of any State
in the Union, and the United Northeastern Railroads is a corporation
which is, fortunately, above calumny. A summer resident who, to satisfy
his lust for office, is rolling to defame--'"

"Yes," interrupted Mr. Crewe, "never mind reading any more of that rot."

"It's botched," said Mr. Tooting, whose artistic soul was jarred. "I'd
have put that in Avalon County, and Weave, and Marshall. I know men that
take all three of those papers in Putnam."

No need of balloonists to see what the enemy is about, when we have a
Mr. Tooting.

"They're stung!" he cried, as he ran rapidly through the bundle of
papers--Mr. Crewe having subscribed, with characteristic generosity, to
the entire press of the State. "Flint gave 'em out all this stuff about
the railroad bein' a sacred institution. You've got 'em on the run right
now, Mr. Crewe. You'll notice that, Democrats and Republicans, they've
dropped everybod