Andrew the Glad

"Sometimes, Major, you are completely horrid," answered Phoebe with both

a smile and a spark in her eyes, "but I do care--that is, I'm interested,

and--"

"It seems to me," the major filled in the pause, "that you are a trifle

short on a woman's long suit--patience. Now in the case of David Kildare,

you don't want to give him one moment of tortoise speed but must keep him

pacing with the hare entirely. Remember the result of that race?"

"But I want him to win--he must! I think--"

"Did you hear that speech he made to the motley and their friends last

Monday night? That was as fine an interpretation of the ethics involved

in the enforcement of law as I have ever heard or read--delivered to

simple minds unversed in the science ethical. He landed hot shot into the

very stronghold of the enemy and his audience saw his points. I find the

mind of David Kildare rather well provisioned with the diverse ammunition

needed in political warfare. The whisky ring is making a stand and

fighting the inches of retreat. I believe it to be retreat!"

"But can it be, Major? Andrew says that money is pouring into the city,

even from other states. They intend to buy the election, come what will.

How can a gentleman fight such a thing with 'not a dollar spent'

announcement?"

"Phoebe," said the major with the quick illumination of one of his

challenging smiles, "you can generally depend on the Almighty to back the

right man when he's fighting the right fight. Suppose you put up a little

faith on the event--be something of a sporting character and back David

to win. Backing thoughts help in the winnings they tell us these days."

"I have, Major--I am--I do, but this hunt to-night positively--positively

frightens me. It seemed so--so regardless of consequences--so trivial

and--and inconsequent that--" Phoebe paused and the major was astonished

to see that she was veiling tears with her thick black lashes.

"Phoebe, child," he said as he bent over quickly and laid his hand on

hers, "I ought to have answered you sooner. He is prepared to make the

speech of his life tonight at seven-thirty, but at ten he joins his

friends to hunt. Didn't you draw your conclusions hurriedly--and against

David?"

In a second the tightness in Phoebe's throat relaxed and the tears flowed

back to their source, only one little splash jeweled her cheek that had

flamed into a blush of joy and contrition.

"Ah," she said softly as she drew a deep breath, "I am so

glad--glad!... I must hurry, for I'm an hour late already. Good-by!"

"Good-by, and remember that faith is one of the by-products of affection.

And I might add that the right kind of faith finds tactful ways of--of

admission. Do you see?" And the major held her hand long enough to make

Phoebe look into his kind eyes.