ounded modern
politician. "This is Goo-gooism!"

"No, it isn't," said Stover indignantly. "I'm not interfering with any
fellow who's sixteen--they can do what they darn please. But I'm not
going to have a lot of kids in this House starting sporting life until
they've grown up to it, savez? They're going to be worth living with
and having around, and not abominations in the sight of gods and men.
Pass the word along."

The revolt, for a short while, was furiously indignant, but the
prestige of Stover's reputation forestalled all thought of
disobedience. In such cases absolute power is in the hands of him who
can wield it, and Stover could command.

In short order he had reduced the youngsters to respect and
usefulness, with the following imperial decrees:

1. All squabs are to maintain in public a deferential and
modest attitude.

2. No squab shall talk to excess in the presence of his
elders.

3. No squab shall habitually use bad language, under
penalty of an application of soap and water.

4. No squab shall use tobacco in any form.

5. No squab shall leave the House after lights without
express permission.

These regulations were not simply an exercise of arbitrary authority,
for in the House itself were certain elements which Dink perfectly
understood, and whose spheres of influence he was resolved to confine
to their own limits.

"How're you going to enforce, Sire, these imperial decrees?" asked the
Tennessee Shad, who, however, thoroughly approved.

"I have a method," said Stover, with an interior smile. "It's what I
call a Rogues' Gallery."

"I don't see," said the Tennessee Shad, puzzled.

"You will."

The first rebel was a Freshman, Bellefont, known as the Millionaire
Baby, who, due to a previous luxurious existence, had acquired manly
practices at an early age. Bellefont was detected with the odor of
tobacco.

"Young squab, have you been smoking?" said Stover.

"Well, what are you going to do about it?" said the youngster
defiantly.

"Gutter Pup, get your camera," said Stover.

The Gutter Pup, mystified, returned. The autocrat seized the young
rebel, slung him paternally across his knee and with raised hand
spoke:

"Gutter Pup, snap a couple of good ones. We'll make this Exhibit A in
our Rogues' Gallery."

Bellefont, at the thought of this public perpetuation, set up a howl
and kicked as though mortally stung. Stover held firm. The snapshots
were taken, developed