Andrew the Glad

"Lord, David," groaned Cap Cantrell, "they're turning loose kegs of

boodle and barrels of booze--we'll never beat 'em in the world! They've

got this city tied up and thrown to the dogs! What's the use of--"

"David," exclaimed the major excitedly, "we're in for a rally, and look

at them!"

Down the street they came, the news kiddies, a hundred strong, led by

Phoebe's freckle-faced red-headed devil whose mouth stretched from ear to

ear with a grin. They carried huge poster banners and their inscriptions

were in a language of their own, emblazoned in ink-pot script.

"I LOVE MY DAVE--BUT JUMP!" meant much to them but failed to elucidate

the fact that they were referring to the gift of a flatboat, canvased for

a swimming booth which David had had moored at the foot of the bridge

during the dog days of the previous summer so that they might have a

joyous dip in the river between editions. He had gone down himself

occasionally for a frolic with them and "Jump!" had been the signal

for the push-off of any timid diver.

He shouted with glee when he read the skit--he was taking his high dive

in life.

"RUN, DAVE, RUN--TIGER'S LOOSE--NIT!" was another witticism and a crooked

pole bore aloft these words, "JUDGE DAVID KILDARE SOAKS OLD BOOZE THE

FIRST ROUND!"

They lined up in front of the headquarters and gave a shrill cheer that

made up in enthusiasm for what it lacked in volume. They took a few words

of banter from the candidate in lieu of a speech and paraded off around

the city, spending much time in front of the camp of the opposition and

indulging in as much of derisive vituperation as they dared.

They were followed by another picturesque visitation. A dignified old

colored man brought twenty pathetic little pickaninnies from the orphans'

home, to which, the men at headquarters learned for the first time, David

Kildare had given the modest building that sheltered the waifs.

Decidedly, murder will out, and there come times when the left and right

hands of a man are forced into confession to each other about their most

secret actions. A political campaign is apt to bring such a situation

into the lives of the aspiring candidates. The little coons set up a

musical wail that passed for a cheer and marched away munching the

contents of a huge box of candy that Polly had sent down to headquarters

the night before, such being her idea of a flagon with which to stay the

courage of the contestants.