to chance acquaintances on park benches or in cheap lodging houses,
to see life from their point of view. His stories are often of the
picaresque type; a name given to a kind of story in which the hero is an
adventurer, sometimes a rogue. He sees the common humanity, and the
redeeming traits even in these. His plots usually have a turn of
surprise at the end; sometimes the very last sentence suddenly
illuminates the whole story. His style is quick, nervous, often slangy;
he is wonderfully dextrous in hitting just the right word or phrase. His
descriptions are notable for telling much in a few words. He has almost
established a definite type of short story writing, and in many of the
stories now written one may clearly see the influence of O. Henry.

IN POLITICS

_Politics is democracy in action. If we believe in democracy, we must
recognize in politics the instrument, however imperfect, through which
democracy works. Brand Whitlock knew politics, first as a political
reporter, then as candidate for mayor in four campaigns, in each of
which he was successful. Under his administration the city of Toledo
became a better place to live in. In_ THE GOLD BRICK _he describes a
municipal campaign, as seen from the point of view of the newspaper
office._

THE GOLD BRICK

BY

BRAND WHITLOCK

Ten thousand dollars a year! Neil Kittrell left the office of the
_Morning Telegraph_ in a daze. He was insensible of the raw February
air, heedless of sloppy pavements, the gray day had suddenly turned
gold. He could not realize it all at once; ten thousand a year--for him
and Edith! His heart swelled with love of Edith, she had sacrificed so
much to become the wife of a man who had tried to make an artist of
himself, and of whom fate, or economic determinism, or something, had
made a cartoonist. What a surprise for her! He must hurry home.

In this swelling of his heart he felt a love not only of Edith but of
the whole world. The people he met seemed dear to him; he felt friendly
with every one, and beamed on perfect strangers with broad, cheerful
smiles. He stopped to buy some flowers for Edith--daffodils, or tulips,
which promised spring, and he took the daffodils, because the girl said:

"I think yellow is such a spirituelle color, don't you?" and inclined
her head in a most artistic manner.

But daffodils, after all, which would have been much the day before,
seemed insufficient in the light of new prosperity, an