"Yes; I'm slickin' over my conscience, too. I feel awnrier about it

because he done me a good turn once, in the Hayes and Wheeler campaign. I

went to a meetin' to hear him speak, and he got sick and couldn't."

Warren Smith addressed the company. "Well, is this all for the present?"

he asked. "Is everything settled?"

"Wait a minute," said Keating. "I'd like to hear from the 'Herald' about

its policy, if Miss Sherwood will tell us."

"Yes, indeed," she answered. "It will be very simple. Don't you think

there is only one course to pursue? We will advocate no one very

energetically, but we will print as much of the truth about Mr. McCune as

we can, with delicacy and honor, in this case, but, as I understand it,

the work is almost all to be done amongst the delegates. We shall not

mention our plan at all--but--but, when the convention is over, and he is

nominated, we will get out an extra; and I am so confident of your success

that I'll tell you now that the extra will be ready the night before the

convention. We will contrive that Mr. Harkless shall not receive his copy

of the paper containing the notice of the change of date, and I think the

chance of his seeing it in any Rouen paper may be avoided. That is all, I

think."

"Thank you," said Keating. "That is certainly the course to follow." Every

one nodded, or acquiesced in words; and Keating and Bence came over to

Helen and engaged her in conversation. The others began to look about for

their hats, vaguely preparing to leave.

"Wait a minute," said the judge. "There's no train due just now." And

Minnie appeared in the doorway with a big pitcher of crab-apple cider,

rich and amber-hued, sparkling, cold, and redolent of the sweet-smelling

orchard where it was born. Behind Miss Briscoe came Mildy Upton with

glasses and a fat, shaking, four-storied jelly-cake on a second tray. The

judge passed his cigars around, and the gentlemen took them blithely, then

hesitatingly held them in their fingers and glanced at the ladies,

uncertain of permission.

"Let me get you some matches," Helen said, quickly, and found a box on the

table and handed it to Keating. Every one sat beaming, and fragrant veils

of smoke soon draped the room.

"Why do you call her 'Miss Sherwood'?" Boswell whispered in Keating's ear.

"That's her name."




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