e Doolittle has done his worst," he remarked grimly. He
glanced at the paper. His face went loose with bewilderment at what he
saw--headlines, big black headlines, bigger and blacker than he had
ever before seen in the politically and typographically conservative
_Sentinel_. He read through a few lines of print, then looked up.

"Why, it's all here!" he gasped. "The kidnapping of Miss Eliot and
Genevieve by Noonan's men--my break with Doolittle, my denunciation of
the party's methods, my coming out as an independent candidate--that
riot on Main Street! How on earth did that ever get into the
_Sentinel_?"

"Some straight talk, and quick talk, and the exercise of a little of
the art of pressure they say you men exercise," was the prompt reply.
"I telephoned Mr. Ledbetter of the _Sentinel_ advising him to hold
the extra Mr. Doolittle had threatened until he heard from Mr. Wesley
Norton, proprietor of the Norton Dry Goods Store. You know, Mr. Norton
is the _Sentinel_'s largest single advertiser and president of the
Whitewater Business Men's Club.

"Then a committee of us women called on Mr. Norton and told him that
we'd organize the women of the city and would carry on a boycott
campaign against his store--we didn't really put it quite as crudely
as that--unless he'd force the _Sentinel_ to stop Mr. Doolittle's lying
extra and print your statement.

"Mr. Norton gave in, and telephoned the _Sentinel_ that if it didn't do
as he said he'd cancel his advertising contract. Then, to make sure,
we got hold of Mr. Jaffry, called on Mr. Ledbetter, who called in the
business manager--and your Uncle Martin told them that unless they
printed the truth, and every bit of it, and printed it at once, he was
going to put up the money to start an opposition paper that _would print
the truth_. That explains the extra 'Well'," ejaculated George, still
staring, "you certainly are a wonder as a campaign manager!"

"Oh, I only did my fraction. That Miss Eliot did as much as I--she's a
find--she's going to be one of Whitewater's really big women. And
Betty Sheridan, you can't guess how Betty's worked--and your wife, Mr.
Remington, she's turning out to be a marvel!

"But that's not all," Mrs. Herrington continued rapidly. "We bought
ten thousand copies of that extra for ourselves--your uncle paid for
them--and we're going to distribute them in every home in town. When
the best element in Whitewater read how the women were trampled down
by No