st hold him back. He's the biggest man in his
party to-day. There is no limit to his powers."

Anne stared at her. "Of course there isn't." She wondered why Winifred
seemed so terribly in earnest about it. She pulled the puppy's ears.
"But I should hate to have him sell the farm."

Winifred settled back with a sharp sigh and gazed at the long gray road
ahead of her. She gazed indeed into a rather blank future. Her talents
would be, she felt, to some extent wasted. If Max rose to greater
heights of fame it would be because of his own unaided efforts. This
child would be no help to him.

The speech Max made to his constituents was not cool and clear-cut like
the speeches which Anne had heard him make to his colleagues in the
House. He spoke now with warmth and persuasiveness. Anne, sitting in the
big car on the edge of the crowd, found herself listening intently. She
was aware, as he went on, of a new Max. The mass of men who had gathered
were largely foreigners who knew little of the real meanings of
democracy. Max was telling them what it meant to be a good American. He
told it simply, but he was in dead earnest. Anne felt that this
earnestness was the secret of his power. He wanted men to be good
Americans, he wanted them to know the privileges they might enjoy in a
free country, and he was telling them how to keep it free-not by
violence and mob rule but by remembering their obligations as citizens.
He told them that they must be always on the side of law and order, that
they must fight injustice not with the bomb and the red flag but with
their votes.

"Vote for the man you trust, and not for the man who inflames your
passions. Your vote is a sacred thing; when you sell it you dishonor
yourself. Respect yourself, and you'll respect the country that has made
a man of you."

The response was immediate, the applause tumultuous. After his speech
they crowded about him. They knew him for their friend. But they knew
him for more than that. He asked nothing of their manhood but the best.
He preached honesty and practiced it.

Yet as he climbed into the car Anne had little to say to him. Winifred,
leaning forward, was emphatic in her praise:

"You have no right to bury yourself, Max."

"My dear girl, I'm not dead yet." He was a bit impatient. He had hoped
for a word from Anne. But she sat silent, pulling the puppy's ears.

"He's asleep," she said finally as she caught the inquiry in her lover's
eyes. "He's tired o