ere their
strength would go in case their candidate did not come in as a dark
horse.

When the night of the senatorial contest came the floor, galleries,
and lobby of the House were crowded. The Judge, M'ri, and Joe were
there, Janey remaining home with her father, who refused to join the
party.

"Thar'll be bigger doin's fer me to see Dave officiate at," he
prophesied.

The quietly humorous young man wielding the gavel found it difficult
to maintain quiet in the midst of such excitement, but he finally
evolved order from chaos.

Wilksley was the first candidate nominated, a gentleman from the
fourteenth delivering a bombastic oration in pompous periods,
accompanied by lofty gestures. He was followed by an understudy, who
made an ineffective effort to support his predecessor.

"A ricochet shot," commented Joe. "Wait till Dave hits the bullseye."

The supporting representatives of the dark horse made short, forceful
speeches. Then followed a brief intermission, while David called a
substitute _pro tem_ to the speaker's desk. He stepped to the platform
to make the nominating speech for Hume, the speech for which every
one was waiting. There was a hush of expectancy, and M'ri felt little
shivers of excitement creeping down her spine as she looked up at
David, dauntless, earnest, and compelling, as he towered above them
all.

In its simplicity, its ring of truth, and its weight of conviction,
his speech was a masterpiece.

"A young Patrick Henry!" murmured the Judge.

M'ri made no comment, for in that flight of a second that intervened
between David's speech and the roar of tumultuous applause, she had
heard a voice, a young, exquisite voice, murmur with a little indrawn
breath, "Oh, David!"

M'ri turned in surprise, and looked into the confused but smiling face
of a lovely young girl, who said frankly and impulsively: "I don't
know who Mr. Hume may be, but I do hope he wins."

M'ri smiled in sympathy, trying to place the resemblance. Then her
gaze wandered to the man beside the young girl.

"You are Carey Winthrop!" she exclaimed.

The man turned, and leaned forward.

"Mrs. Thorne, this is indeed a pleasure," he said, extending his
hand.

Joe then swung his chair around into their vision.

"Oh, Joe!" cried the young girl ecstatically. "And where is Janey?"

The balloting was in progress, and there was opportunity for mutual
recalling of old times. Then suddenly the sibilant sounds dropped to
silenc