me that these expenses are out of all
proportion to the simplicity of the task involved. It strikes me--ahem
that you might find, in some quarters at least, a freer response to a
movement founded on principle."

"That's right," declared Mr. Tooting, "I've thought so myself. I've got
mad, and told 'em so to their faces. But you've said yourself, Mr. Crewe,
that we've got to deal with this thing practically."

"Certainly," Mr. Crewe interrupted. He loved the word.

"And we've got to get workers, haven't we? And it costs money to move 'em
round, don't it? We haven't got a bushel basket of passes. Look here,"
and he pushed another paper at Mr. Crewe, "here's ten new ones who've
made up their minds that you're the finest man in the State. That makes
twenty."

Mr. Crewe took that paper deprecatingly, but nevertheless began a fire of
cross-questions on Mr. Tooting as to the personality, habits, and
occupations of the discerning ten in question, making certain little
marks of his own against each name. Thus it will be seen that Mr. Crewe
knew perfectly what he was about--although no one else did except Mr.
Tooting, who merely looked mysterious when questioned on the streets of
Ripton or Newcastle or Kingston. It was generally supposed, however, that
the gentleman from Leith was going to run for the State Senate, and was
attempting to get a following in other counties, in order to push through
his measures next time. Hence the tiny fluctuations of Hilary Vane's
seismograph an instrument, as will be shown, utterly out-of-date. Not so
the motto toujours l'audace. Geniuses continue (at long intervals) to be
born, and to live up to that motto.

That seismograph of the Honourable Hilary's persisted in tracing only a
slightly ragged line throughout the beautiful month of May, in which
favourable season the campaign of the Honourable Adam B. Hunt took root
and flourished--apparently from the seed planted by the State Tribune.
The ground, as usual, had been carefully prepared, and trained gardeners
raked, and watered, and weeded the patch. It had been decreed and
countersigned that the Honourable Adam B. Hunt was the flower that was to
grow this year.

There must be something vitally wrong with an instrument which failed to
register the great earthquake shock of June the seventh!

Now that we have come to the point where this shock is to be recorded on
these pages, we begin to doubt whether our own pen will be able
adequately to