publicity bureau. That's all. I hear
they're going to use it to boom Mix for a political job. But you
wait--wait, and keep on paying out the rope."

"That's all I've got left to pay out," said Henry, amiably.

"Aren't you doing pretty well, considering?"

Henry nodded. "We're doing great business--I mean, anybody else would
think so. About a hundred and fifty a week net, for the first three
weeks. And Anna's salting away a hundred and ten of it. Every morning
I draw a clean handkerchief, and a dime for dissipation, and she keeps
a clutch on the rest."

"Hm! A hundred and fifty. That's good money, Henry."

"Well, that's the only kind we take. But you can see for yourself what
this thing's done to us. We ought to be averaging two twenty-five. And
we'd have done it, too."

The Judge appeared contrite. "I'm afraid you're blaming me for bad
advice, Henry."

"No, sir. If I blamed anybody, I'd just blame myself for taking it.
But I don't. You see, even if I fall down on the first prize, I've got
a pretty good business under way. Eight thousand a year."

"Would you keep on with it?"

"I'd think it over. It isn't particularly joyous, but it sure does pay
the rent. Oh, I suppose I'd try to sell it, if I could get a price for
it, but Bob says I couldn't expect a big one, because so much of the
trade sort of belongs to _us_--and wouldn't necessarily patronize the
chap that bought me out. He tells me it was worth twenty when I took
it, and thirty now, and if it weren't for this law, it would be worth
fifty. That's all due to the improvements, and you advised me to put
'em in, and you engineered the mortgage. So I'm not huffy at you.
Hardly."

"Still, you want the big prize if you can get it.... Notice what Mix
is giving out to the papers? He'll hang himself yet, and if he does,
you won't be too far behind to catch up. That's a prophecy. But by
George, I can't help feeling that Mix isn't in that outfit for his
health. It just don't smell right, somehow."

The Reform League had jubilantly explained to Mr. Mix that he was a
liberator and a saviour of humanity from itself, and Mr. Mix had
deftly caught whatever bouquets were batted up to him. He had allowed
the fragrance of them to waft even as far as the _Herald_ office, to
which he sent a bulletin every forty-eight hours. Mr. Mix's salary was
comforting, his expense accounts were paid as soon as vouchers were
submitted, he was steadily advancing in Miss Starkweather's go