like Harlson. The ways
of the big employer were not what Harlson admired, and he had never
tried much to conciliate him. So it came that in more than one
legislative and local contest we had lost the Ninth Ward. And now
Harlson was a candidate for Congress.

We were puzzled. "I'm afraid Jean will have to lock me out again,"
laughed Harlson, as we were discussing the problem one night after a
committee meeting, and herein he referred to a funny episode, dating
back to the time when the Ape was but a yearling. Jean, dignified,
chatelaine, sweet wife and fond mother, was as interested in politics
as in anything else that commanded her husband's attention at any time,
and had learned from our conversations all about the Ninth Ward. We
were confident one spring, and as Grant left home on the morning of
election day he was informed that unless he came as a victor he must
not expect admission to the home containing his wife and baby boy. He
said he would return in triumph or upon his shield, but he did neither.
At five o'clock in the afternoon we knew that we were whipped, whipped
beautifully and thoroughly, and all because of that same black demon of
a Ninth Ward, and the fact was so apparent that we became suddenly
philosophical, and Grant turned to me and said:

"Come to dinner with me, Alf, and let's go now. What's the use of
staying to the funeral? We'll eat a good dinner and smoke, and good
digestion will wait on appetite, and we'll plan and say we'll do better
next time."

So we left the hurly-burly and took the train, and were at Harlson's
home a little before the dinner hour. Grant tried his latch-key, but
it would not serve. He rang the bell, but there came no answer. Then
there came a tapping and clatter from inside a window, and both of us
left the porch to get down upon the sward and visit the window and
investigate.

Inside the window, and smiling, was a small, brown woman, holding in
her arms a crowing youngster, who was making a great ado and reaching
out his hands toward his father. She raised the window just a little,
and put a question, gravely:

"What is it that you wish, gentlemen?"

Grant intimated, humbly, that we wanted to get in and be given some
dinner.

"Are you the gentlemen who were going to carry the Ninth Ward?"

"Yes."

"Did you carry it?"

"No."

The laughing face fell a little, but the stately air was recovered in a
moment. "Well," she said, with dignity, "I'm very