contest?"

"It's the difference between dirt and cleanliness," said Paul.
"Besides, as I told you at the outset, Mr. Finn and I are close
personal friends, and I have the highest regard for his character. He
has seen that his side has scrupulously refrained from personalities
with regard to me, and I insist on the same observance with regard to
him."

"With all due deference to you, Mr. Savelli, you were called only the
day before yesterday 'the spoiled darling of Duchesses' boudoirs.'"

"It wasn't with Mr. Finn's cognizance. I've found that out."

"Well," said the agent, leaning back-in the luxurious limousine, "I
don't see why somebody, without your cognizance, shouldn't call Mr.
Finn the spoiled minion of the Almighty's ante-chamber. That's a
devilish good catch-phrase," he added, starting forward in the joy of
his newborn epigram: "Devilish good. 'The spoiled minion of the
Almighty's ante-chamber.' It'll become historical."

"If it does," said Paul, "it will be associated with the immediate
retirement of the Conservative candidate."

"Do you really mean that?"

It was Paul's turn to start forward. "My dear Wilson," said he, "if you
or anybody else thinks I'm a man to talk through his hat, I'll retire
at once. I don't care a damn about myself. Not a little tuppenny damn.
What the devil does it matter to me whether I get into Parliament or
not? Nothing. Not a tuppenny damn. You can't understand. It's the party
and the country. For myself, personally, the whole thing can go to
blazes. I'm in earnest, dead earnest," he continued, with a vehemence
incomprehensible to Wilson. "If anybody doesn't think so, I'll clear
out at once"--he snapped his fingers. "But while I'm candidate
everything I say I mean. I mean it intensely--with all my soul. And I
say that if there's a single insulting reference to Mr. Finn during
this election, you'll be up against the wreck of your own political
career."

The agent watched the workings of his candidate's dark clear-cut face.
He was very proud of his candidate, and found it difficult to realize
that there were presumably sane people who would not vote for him on
sight. A lingering memory of grammar school days flashed on him when he
told his wife later of the conversation, and he likened Paul to a
wrathful Apollo. Anxious to appease the god, he said humbly:

"It was the merest of suggestions, Mr. Savelli. Heaven knows we don't
want to descend to personalities, and your retirem