now. 'Well,' he says, 'you can't stop here,' and in
another second he was throwing the fellow out. Threw him out pretty
hard, too. I guess; right down the stairs, and Bingham on top. Met
Winter's men at the door. 'The next time you want information from
the headquarters of this association, gentlemen,' Bingham said, 'send
somebody respectable.' Bingham thought the man was just any kind of low
spy at first, but when they claimed him for personation, Bingham just
laughed. 'Don't be so hard on your friends; he said. I don't think we'll
hear much more about that little racket."

"Can't anything be done to any of them?" asked Stella. "Not today, of
course, but when there's time."

"We'll have to see about it, Stella," said Alec. "When there's time."

"Talking about Bingham," Oliver told them; "you know Bingham's story
about Jim Whelan keeping sober for two weeks, for the first time in
twenty years, to vote for Winter? Wouldn't touch a thing--no, he was
going to do it this time, if he died for it; it was disagreeable to
refuse drinks, but it was going to be worth his while. Been boasting
about the post-office janitorship Winter was to give him if he got in.
Well, in he came to Number Eleven this morning all dressed up, with a
clean collar, looking thirstier than any man you ever saw, and gets
his paper. Young Charlie Bingham is deputy returning officer at Number
Eleven. In a second back comes Whelan. 'This ballot's marked; he says;
'you don't fool me.' 'Is it?' says Charlie, taking it out of his hand.
'That's very wrong, Jim; you shouldn't have marked it,' and drops it
into the ballot-box. Oh, Jim was wild! The paper had gone in blank, you
see, and he'd lost all those good drunks and his vote too! He was going
to have Charlie's blood right away. But there it was--done. He'd handed
in his ballot--he couldn't have another."

They all laughed, I fear, at the unfortunate plight of the too
suspicious Whelan. "Why did he think the ballot was marked?" asked
Advena.

"Oh, there was a little smudge on it--a fly-spot or something, Charlie
says. But you couldn't fool Whelan."

"I hope," said Stella meditatively, "that Lorne will get in by more than
one. He wouldn't like to owe his election to a low-down trick like that"

"Don't you be at all alarmed, you little girlish thing," replied her
brother. "Lorne will get in by five hundred."

John Murchison had listened to their excited talk, mostly in silence,
going on with his dinner