Part 3 (1/2)

”Say, Mr. Jaffry, you haven't swung over----”

”Not at all. It's tactics. I ought to see him.”

”Why not run out to his house----”

”Just been there. Ran away. Some one there I'm afraid of.”

”Telephone?”

Mr. Jaffry shook his head and lowered his voice.

”With Betty hearing it at this end, and the committee from the Antis sitting it out down there--the telephone's on the stair landing----”

He pursed his lips, waved his cap slowly to and fro and observed it with a whimsical expression on his sandy face, then glanced out of the window. He stepped closer, looking sharply down. A very fat boy with pink cheeks and a downcast expression was sitting on a fire-plug. Mr.

Jaffry leaned out.

”Pudge,” he called, ”come up here a minute.”

On the Remington and Evans stationery he penciled a note, which he sealed. Then he scribbled another--to Mrs. George Remington, asking her to hand George the inclosure the moment he appeared from his work. The two he slipped into a large envelope. The very fat boy stood before him.

”Want to make a quarter, Pudge? Take this letter, right now, to Mrs.

George Remington. Give it to her personally. It's the old Remington place, you know.”

He felt in his change pocket. It was empty. He hesitated, turned to Evans, then, reconsidering, produced a dollar bill from another pocket and gave it to the boy.

”Now run,” he said.

The boy, speechless, turned and moved out of the office. His sister spoke to him, but he did not turn his head. He rolled down the stairs to the street, stood a moment in front of Humphrey's, drew a sudden breath that was almost a gasp, waddled into the store, advanced directly on the soda fountain, and with a blazing red face and angrily triumphant eyes confronted Billy Simmons.

”I'll take a chocolate marshmallow nut sundae,” he said. ”And you needn't be stingy with the marshmallow, either!”

At ten minutes past four, the anxious Antis in the Remington living-room heard the candidate for district attorney running down the stairs, and even Mrs. Brewster-Smith was hushed. The candidate stopped, however, on the landing. They heard him lift the telephone receiver. He called a number. Then----

”_Sentinel_ office?... Mr. Ledbetter, please.... h.e.l.lo, Ledbetter!

Remington speaking. I have that statement ready. Will you send a man around?... Yes, right away. And I wish you'd put it on the wires.

Display it just as prominently as you can, won't you?... Thanks. That's fine! Good-by.”

He ran back upstairs.

But shortly he appeared, wearing the distrait, exalted expression of the genius who has just pa.s.sed through the creative act. He looked very tall and strong as he stood before the mantel, receiving the congratulations of Mrs. Brewster-Smith and the timid admiration of Cousin Emelene. His few words were well chosen and were uttered with dignity.

”And now, dear Mr. Remington, I'm sure I don't need to ask you if you are taking the right stand on suffrage.” This from Mrs. Brewster-Smith.

The candidate smiled tolerantly.