"I've been wondering how he'll take it," he said. "He may try to bluff
through, claim it's all a perjured frame-up. But I don't believe he'll
do that. You see, he knows that the photograph is absolutely condemning
evidence. I expect that he'll simply disappear. He may have left the
city by this time. Or he may try to bargain with our publisher by
offering to retire as a candidate if the scandal about him is hushed up.
I don't believe the 'chief' would consent to that, though."

Usually on Sunday mornings John accompanied his mother to church. This
day, however, because it was too late for them to attend the morning
service, they went for a walk instead. When they passed the neighborhood
motion picture theater John noticed that Consuello's latest picture, the
one he had seen at the pre-view, was being shown. An heroic size
photograph of Consuello stood in the small lobby of the theater. He
noticed that his mother averted her eyes. They walked in silence for
half a block and then Mrs. Gallant spoke.

"Isn't Miss Carrillo a friend, a very dear friend, of this Mr. Gibson?"
she asked.

"Yes," he admitted. "Why do you ask, mother?"

She did not reply.

"But, mother," he exclaimed, "surely you won't think that she knew of
his scheming with 'Gink' Cummings! Will you blame her because someone
she knew went wrong? Do you hold her responsible for the faults and
weaknesses of others?"

Again Mrs. Gallant did not reply. Her silence provoked him. It was so
unlike her to be unfair. He stifled the angry protest he was about to
utter.

"Some day, mother, you are going to know her," he said. "Then every
unkind thought you have ever held toward her will come back to you in
anguish. You know, mother, dearest, how wrong it is to condemn unfairly.
That was one of the first lessons taught me by father; to withhold
judgment; suppress prejudice until all sides of a case have been heard.
That is the keystone of American liberty--'malice toward none.' It was
the principle of the Magna Carta, Great Britain's document of human
rights, that the English barons compelled their king to deliver to them
more than 700 years ago.

"Remember, mother, dearest"--his voice softened--"it was prejudice,
intolerance and hate that caused the crucifixion of Christ."

"John, please," his mother said, gently, "please don't allow anything
to spoil our one day of the week together."

"But, mother----" he began.

"My boy! Please," she pleaded.

He had ne