rner of Mr. Pulcifer's mouth
opposite that occupied by the cigar came the words and some of the tune
of a song which had been the hit of a "Follies" show two seasons
before. No, there was nothing dismal or gloomy in Mr. Horatio Pulcifer's
appearance as he piloted his automobile toward home at the close of that
October afternoon.

And his outward seeming did not belie his feelings. He had spent
a pleasant day. At South Wellmouth, his first port of call, he had
strengthened his political fences by dropping in upon and chatting with
several acquaintances who prided themselves upon being "in the know"
concerning local political opinion and drift. Mr. "Raish" Pulcifer--no
one in Ostable county ever referred to him as Horatio--had already held
the positions of town clerk, selectman, constable and postmaster.
Now, owing to an unfortunate shift in the party vote, the public was,
temporarily, deprived of his services. However, it was rumored that he
might be persuaded to accept the nomination for state representative if
it were offered to him. His acquaintances at South Wellmouth had that
day assured him there was "a good, fair fightin' chance" that it might
be.

Then, after leaving South Wellmouth, he had dined at the Rogers' House
in Wellmouth Centre, "matching" a friend for the dinners and "sticking"
the said friend for them and for the cigars afterward. Following this he
had joined other friends in a little game in Elmer Rogers' back room and
had emerged from that room three dollars and seventy-two cents ahead.
No wonder he sang as he drove homeward. No wonder he looked quite care
free. And, as a matter of fact, care free he was, that is, as care free
as one is permitted to be in this care-ridden world. Down underneath his
bright exterior there were a few cankers which might have gnawed had
he permitted himself to think of them, but he did not so permit.
Mr. Pulcifer's motto had always been: "Let the other feller do the
worryin'." And, generally speaking, in a deal with Raish that, sooner or
later, was what the other fellow did.

The fog and dusk thickened, Mr. Pulcifer sang, and the flivver wheezed
and rattled and splashed onward. At a particularly dark spot, where the
main road joined a cross country byroad, Raish drew up and climbed out
to light the car lamps, which were of the old-fashioned type requiring
a gas tank and matches. He had lighted one and was bending forward with
the match ready to light the other when a