his future advantage, for Harlson's memory of such
things was as the memory of that cardinal--what was his name?--who
never forgot a face or incident or figure. We were what the
politicians call "on top," a week before election, save in that same
Ninth Ward. I had seen old Gunderson myself. He was not what we call
affable. I had to wander through many offices, and finally to send in
my card. I found this burly man in his private room, looking over
papers on his desk. He did not look up as I came in. I took a seat,
unasked, and waited. It was five minutes before he turned his head.
Then he muttered a "good-morning," for we had met before.

I tried to be companionable and easy. I returned his salutation,
somewhat too effusively, it may be, and asked him about his business,
and then wanted to know, in a general way, how be stood on the
Congressional issue. He hardened in a moment.

"I don't know why I should support Harlson," he said.

"Isn't he honest?" I asked.

"Oh, yes, I suppose so," he grunted; "but he's not my kind."

"Is the other man?" I asked.

Even the burly animal before me flushed. The other man was but a
tricky politician of the creeping sort, a caterer to all prejudices,
and a flatterer and favorer. This everybody knew. But he had become a
part of the machine, was shrewd, and, with the machine behind him, was
a power.

"I've nothing to say about that; but Harlson's not my kind. He's like
one of those stag-hounds. He has nothing to do with the other dogs."

"He's fought some of the other dogs," I suggested.

The man grunted, again: "He's not my kind." And I left the place. I
had little hope of the Ninth Ward.

CHAPTER XXX.

THE NINTH WARD.

Unaccustomed to story-telling, it is possible that I have neglected
chronology in this account. I referred just now to the time we
couldn't get into Harlson's house because we hadn't carried the Ninth
Ward and to the Ape crowing at the window in his mother's arms. Time
passed after that, and, we all grew older, though, somehow, Jean did
not seem to change, nor, for that matter, did Grant, though he was
years her elder. But the Ape changed amazingly. He grew into a
stalwart youth of fourteen, and became, about that time, addicted to a
bad habit for which I reproved him in vain. He had discovered that he
could pick up his little mother and carry her about in his arms, and he
did so frequently. And his two younger brothers looked o