s hand on the door, and with
rather a dark countenance.

Dr. Mossy touched his fingers to his forehead, trying to remember.

"I fear I have--ah! I rejoice to see your name before the public, dear
papa, and at the head of the ticket."

The General's displeasure sank down like an eagle's feathers. He smiled
thankfully, and bowed.

"My friends compelled me," he said.

"They think you will be elected?"

"They will not doubt it. But what think you, my son?"

Now the son had a conviction which it would have been madness to
express, so he only said:

"They could not elect one more faithful."

The General bowed solemnly.

"Perhaps the people will think so; my friends believe they will."

"Your friends who have used your name should help you as much as they
can, papa," said the Doctor. "Myself, I should like to assist you, papa,
if I could."

"A-bah!" said the pleased father, incredulously.

"But, yes," said the son.

A thrill of delight filled the General's frame. _This_ was like a son.

"Thank you, my son! I thank you much. Ah, Mossy, my dear boy, you make
me happy!"

"But," added Mossy, realizing with a tremor how far he had gone, "I see
not how it is possible."

The General's chin dropped.

"Not being a public man," continued the Doctor; "unless, indeed, my
pen--you might enlist my pen."

He paused with a smile of bashful inquiry. The General stood aghast for
a moment, and then caught the idea.

"Certainly! cer-tain-ly! ha, ha, ha!"--backing out of the
door--"certainly! Ah! Mossy, you are right, to be sure; to make a
complete world we must have swords _and_ pens. Well, my son, '_au
revoir;_' no, I cannot stay--I will return. I hasten to tell my friends
that the pen of Dr. Mossy is on our side! Adieu, dear son."

Standing outside on the _banquette_ he bowed--not to Dr. Mossy, but to
the balcony of the big red-brick front--a most sunshiny smile, and
departed.

The very next morning, as if fate had ordered it, the Villivicencio
ticket was attacked--ambushed, as it were, from behind the Americain
newspaper. The onslaught was--at least General Villivicencio said it
was--absolutely ruffianly. Never had all the lofty courtesies and
formalities of chivalric contest been so completely ignored. Poisoned
balls--at least personal epithets--were used. The General himself was
called "antiquated!" The friends who had nominated him, they were
positively sneered at; dubbed "fossils," "old ladies," and their cauc