want to know," drawled Average Jones, "how--er-you planted the glass
bulb--er--the sulphuric acid bulb, you know--in the chair that you
sent--er--to the Honorable William Linder, so that--er--it wouldn't be
shattered by anything but the middle C note of a B-flat trombone?"

The man sat down weakly and bowed his face in his hands. Presently he
looked up.

"I don't care," he said. "Come inside."

At the end of an hour's talk Arbuthnot, alias Ransom, agreed to
everything that Average Jones proposed.

"Mind you," he said, "I don't promise I won't kill him later. But
meantime it'll be some satisfaction to put him down and out politically.
You can find me here any time you want me. You say you'll see Linder
to-morrow?"

"To-morrow," said Average Jones. "'Look in the next day's papers for the
result."

Setting his telephone receiver down the Honorable William Linder lost
himself in conjecture. He had just given an appointment to his tried and
true, but quite impersonal enemy, Mr. Horace Waldemar.

"What can Waldemar want of me?" ran his thoughts. "And who is this
friend, Jones, that he's bringing? Jones? Jones! Jones?!" He tried it
in three different accents, without extracting any particular meaning
therefrom. "Nothing much in the political game," he decided.

It was with a mingling of gruffness and dignity that he greeted
Mr. Waldemar an hour later. The introduction to Average Jones he
acknowledged with a curt nod.

"Want a job for this young man, Waldemar?" he grunted.

"Not at present, thank you," returned the newspaper owner. "Mr. Jones
has a few arguments to present to you."

"Arguments," repeated the Honorable William Lender contemptuously. "What
kind of arguments?"

"Political arguments. Mayoralty, to be specific. To be more specific
still, arguments showing why you should drop out of the race."

"A pin-feather reformer, eh?"

The politician turned to meet Average Jones' steady gaze and mildly
inquiring smile.

"Do you--er--know anything of submarine mines, Mr. Linder?" drawled the
visitor.

"Huh?" returned the Honorable William Linder, startled.

"Submarine mines," explained the other., "Mines in the sea, if you wish
words of one syllable."

The lids of the Honorable Linder contracted.

"You're in the wrong joint," he said, "this ain't the Naval College."

"Thank you. A submarine mine is a very ingenious affair. I've recently
been reading somewhat extensively on the subject. The main charge i