Erebus, the letters shouted at him
against an orange background. Every window of the second story contained
a placard. On the first story, in the show window where Petrosini had
been wont to ravish epicurean eyes by shad and red snapper, perch and
trout, cunningly imbedded in ice blocks upon a marble slab--in that
window, framed now in the hated orange and black, stood a woman.

She was turning backward, for the benefit of onlookers who pressed close
to the glass, the leaves of a mammoth pad resting upon an easel.

From their point of vantage in the second story of the Jaffry Building,
the candidate and his manager could see that each sheet bore that horrid
headline:

"QUESTIONS FOR CANDIDATE REMINGTON."

The whole population of White water, it seemed to George, was crowded
about that corner.

"I'll be back in a minute," said Benjie Doolittle, disappearing through
the private office door with the black tails of his coat achieving
a true horizontal behind him. As statesman and as undertaker, Mr.
Doolittle never swerved from the garment which keeps green the memory of
the late Prince Consort.

As the door opened, the much-tried George Remington had a glimpse of
that pleasing industrial unit, Betty Sheridan, searching through the
file for the copy of the letter to the Cummunipaw Steel Works, which
he had recently demanded to see. He pressed the buzzer imperiously, and
Betty responded with duteous haste. He pointed through the window to the
crowd in front of McMonigal's block.

"Perhaps," he said, with what seemed to him Spartan self-restraint,
"_you_ can explain the meaning of that scene."

Betty looked out with an air of intelligent interest.

"Oh yes!" she said vivaciously. "I think I can. It's a Voiceless
Speech."

"A voice l--" George's own face was a voiceless speech as he repeated
two syllables of his stenographer's explanation.

"Yes. Don't you know about voiceless speeches? It's antiquated to try to
run any sort of a campaign without them nowadays."

"Perhaps you also know who that--female--" again George's power of
utterance failed him. Betty came closer to the window and peered out.

"It's Frances Herrington who is turning the leaves now," she said
amiably. "I know her by that ducky toque."

"Frances Herrington! What Harvey Herrington is thinking of to allow----"
George's emotion constrained him to broken utterance. "And we're
dining there tonight! She has no sense of the decencies--the--the--th