in his campaign against the
fingers before it had begun, Richard was driven to discuss Dorothy's
work-a-day resolves.

"Newspaper work? Do society, I suppose?"

Richard had gotten hold of the idioms of the craft, and spoke of "doing
society" as though reared among the types.

"No, not society," and Dorothy shook her head. "I'd pick 'em to pieces,
the minxes; and the papers don't want that. No, I'm going to learn about
politics with Uncle Pat. I shall write politics. You must teach me."

Richard said he would.

"Only you should know," said he, "that I need a deal of teaching
myself."

"But you can write!" cried Dorothy, her hands emerging from their
retreat to clasp each other in a glow of admiration. "I've read your
letters. They remind me of Carlyle's 'French Revolution.'"

This staggered Richard; was his idol laughing at him? A glance into her
eyes showed only a darkened enthusiasm; whereat Richard puffed and
swelled. Perhaps his _Daily Tory_ letters did have the rhetorical tread
of the Scotchman's masterpiece. In any event it was pleasant to have
Dorothy think so. Before he could frame his modesty to fit reply, the
cumbrous retreat of Senator Loot was overheard.

"Now we must go back," said Dorothy.

"May I have a rose?" asked Richard, pointing to his blushing consignment
of that day, where they luxuriated in a giant vase.

"Don't touch my hands!" cried Dorothy fiercely, whipping them behind
her.

Richard gave his humble parole that he would not touch her hands. Being
reassured, Dorothy pinned a bud in his lapel. The little fingers were so
fondly confident of safety that they made no haste in these labors of
the bud. Their confidence went unabused; Richard adhered to his parole
and never touched them.

"I'm glad you can keep your promise!" said Dorothy, pouting from pure
delight.

Later, the pair made love to one another with their eyes across the
dignified desk of Senator Hanway, while that statesman told Richard
matters to the detriment of Mr. Hawke's canvass for a Speakership and
Governor Obstinate's claims upon a Presidency, of which, through the
medium of the _Daily Tory_, he believed the public should be informed.

"My dear Dorothy," observed the sibyl of the golden locks, when the
other related how faithfully Richard had kept his compact concerning her
fingers, "you ought never to make a man promise the thing you do not
want. They are such dullards; besides, they have a passion for keeping