carry New York's
contribution to the collected party wisdom, about to concentrate at
Saratoga.

Peter felt like a stranger in the crowd, but on mingling in it he
quickly found himself a marked man. He was seized upon by one of the
diners of the evening before, and soon found himself forming part of a
group, which constantly changed its components, but continued to talk
convention affairs steadily. Nor did the starting of the train, with
cheers, brass bands, flags, and other enthusing elements, make more than
a temporary break. From the time the special started, till it rolled
into Saratoga, six hours later, there was one long series of political
debates and confabs. Peter listened much, and learned much, for the talk
was very straight and plain. He had chats with Costell and Green. His
two fellow-delegates from "de sixt" sought him and discussed intentions.
He liked Schlurger, a simple, guileless German, who wanted only to do
what his constituents wished him to do, both in convention and Assembly.
Of Kennedy he was not so sure. Kennedy had sneered a little at Peter's
talk about the "best man," and about "helping the ward," and had only
found that Peter's ideas had value after he had been visited by various
of the saloon-keepers, seen the vast torchlight meeting, and heard the
cheers at Peter's arguments. Still, Peter was by no means sure that
Kennedy was not a square man, and concluded he was right in not
condemning him, when, passing through one of the cars, he overheard the
following:

"What kind of man is that Stirling, who's raised such ---- in the
sixth?"

"I don't know him, but Kennedy told me, before he'd swung round, that he
was a darned good sort of a cuss."

This was flattery, Peter understood, however questionable the form might
seem, and he was pleased. Very few of us do not enjoy a real compliment.
What makes a compliment uncomfortable is either a suspicion that the
maker doesn't mean it, or a knowledge that it is not merited.

Peter went at once to his room on reaching the hotel in Saratoga,
intending to make up the sleep of which his long "think" the night
before had robbed him. But scarcely had the colored gentleman bowed
himself out, after the usual "can I git de gentleman a pitcher of ice
water" (which translated means: "has de gentleman any superfluous
change?") when a knock came at the door. Peter opened it, to find a man
outside.

"Is this Mr. Stirling's room?" inquired the individual.

"Y