onan's mob--well, they'll know how to vote! Mr. Noonan will never
guess how much he has helped us."

"You seem to have left nothing for me to do," said George.

"You'll find out there'll be all you'll want," replied the brisk Mrs.
Herrington. "We're organizing meetings--one in every hall in the city,
one on almost every other street corner, and we're going to rush you
from one to the next--most of the night--and there'll be no letup for
you tomorrow, even if it is election day. Yes, you'll find there'll be
plenty to do!"

The next twenty-four hours were the busiest that George Remington had
ever known in his twenty-six years.

But at nine o'clock the next evening it was over--the tumult and the
shouting and the congratulations--and all were gone save only Martin
Jaffry; and District-Attorney-Elect Remington sat in his hotel suite
alone in the bosom of his family.

He was still dazed by what had happened to him--at the part he had
unexpectedly played--dazed by the intense but well-ordered activity of
the women: their management of his whirlwind tour of the city; their
organization of parades with amazing swiftness; their rapid and complete
house-to-house canvass--the work of Mrs. Herrington, of Betty, of
that Miss Eliot, of hundreds of women--and especially of Genevieve.
He marveled especially at Genevieve because he had never thought of
Genevieve as doing such things. But she _had_ done them--he felt
that somehow she was a different Genevieve: he didn't know what the
difference was--he was in too much of a whirl for analysis--but he had
an undefined sense of _aliveness_, of a spirited, joyous initiative in
her.

She and all the rest seemed so strange as to be unbelievable. And yet,
she--and all of it--true!...

From dramatic events and intangible qualities of the spirit, his
consciousness shifted to material things--his immediate surroundings.
Not till this blessed moment of relaxation did he become aware of
the discomforts of this suite--nor did Genevieve fully appreciate the
flamboyantly flowered maroon wall-paper and the jig-saw furniture.

"George,"' she sighed, "now that you're not needed down here, can't we
go home?"

"Home!" The word came out half snort, half growl--hardly the tone
becoming one whose triumph was so exultingly fresh. With a jar he had
come back to a present which he fully understood. "Damn home! I haven't
any home!"

Genevieve stared. Uncle Martin snickered, for Uncle Martin had the g