all were a little noisy, and, as they
made the street, broke lustily into the campaign song. People said,
"That's him," "That's O'Brien," "That's Aladdin O'Brien," "That's the
man wrote it," and the like. The young men disappeared down the street
singing at the tops of their voices, with interlardations of turbulent,
mocking laughter.

Aladdin's song went all over the North, and his name became known in the
land.

Hannibal St. John was not musical. There were only four tunes, and three
of them were variations of "Carry Me Back to Old Virginia," that he
recognized when he heard them. As he lay on his bed of pain, he
heard the shrill whistle of his gardener piping in the garden below.
Unconsciously the senator's well hand marked the time. All day, as he
came and went about his business, the gardener kept whistling that tune,
and the senator heard and reheard ever with increasing pleasure. And
this was an extraordinary thing, for it was as difficult or nearly so
to move Hannibal St. John with music as it must have been for Orpheus
to get himself approached by rocks and stones and trees, and far more
difficult than it ever was for the Pied Piper to achieve a following of
brats and rats.

Margaret had been for a drive with a girl friend. She came home and to
her father's side in great spirits.

"Oh, papa," she cried, "will you do me a favor?"

She read consent.

"Claire has got the wonderfulest song, and I want you to let her come in
and sing it for you."

"A song?" said the senator, doubtfully.

"Papa de-e-ear, please."

He smiled grimly.

"If Claire will not be shocked by my appearance," he said against hope.

"Rubbish," cried Margaret, and flew out of the room.

There were a few preliminary gasps and giggles in the hall, and the
two maidens, as sedate and demure as mice, entered. Claire was a little
party, with vivacious manners and a comical little upturned face.

"How do you do, senator?" she said. "I'm so sorry you're laid up. Isn't
it lovely out?" She advanced and shook his well hand.

"Won't you take a chair?" said the senator.

"I just ran in for a moment. Margaret and I thought maybe you'd like to
hear the new campaign song that everybody's singing. My brother brought
it up from Portland--" she paused, out of breath.

"It would afford me great pleasure," said the senator.

And forthwith Claire sang in a rollicking voice. The tune was the same
as that which the gardener had been whistling. S