ite true,"
said George, making the concession so that it had all the belligerency
of a challenge. "But of course I would never have consented to run for
office at the price of muzzling my convictions."

Mr. Doolittle wearily agreed that that was more than could be expected
from any candidate of the high moral worth of George Remington. Then
he went over a list of places throughout the county where George was to
speak during the next week, and intimated dolefully that the committee
could use a little more money, if it had it.

He expressed it thus: "A few more contributions wouldn't put any strain
to speak of on our pants' pockets. Anything more to be got out of Old
Martin Jaffry? Don't he realize that blood's thicker than water?"

"I'll speak to him," growled George.

He hated Mr. Benjamin Doolittle's colloquialisms, though once he had
declared them amusing, racy, of the soil, and had rebuked Genevieve's
fastidious criticisms of them on an occasion when she had interpreted
her role of helpmeet to include that of hostess to Mr. and Mrs.
Doolittle--oh, not in her own home, of course!--at luncheon, at the
Country Club!

"Well, I guess that's about all for today."

Mr. Doolittle brought the conference to a close, hoisting himself by
links from his chair.

"It takes $3000 every time you circularize the constituency, you
know----"

He lounged toward the window and looked out again upon the pleasant,
mellow scene around Fountain Square. And with the look his affectation
of bucolic calm dropped from him. He turned abruptly.

"What's that going on at McMonigal's corner?" he demanded sharply. "I
don't know, I am sure," said George, with indifference, still bent upon
teaching his manager that he was a free and independent citizen, in
leading strings to no man. "It's been vacant since the fire in March,
when Petrosini's fish market and Miss Letterblair's hat st----"

He had reached the window himself by this time, and the sentence was
destined to remain forever unfinished.

From the low, old-fashioned brick building on the northeast corner of
Fountain Square, whose boarded eyes had stared blindly across toward the
glittering orbs of its towering neighbor, the Jaffry Building, for six
months, a series of great placards flared.

Planks had been removed from the windows, plate glass restored, and
behind it he read in damnable irritation:

"SOME QUESTIONS FOR CANDIDATE REMINGTON."

A foot high, an inch broad, black as