ing masses which are the bone and sinew of this fair land of
ours, pick a man who holds a block of the foreign vote right in the
pocket of his jeans."

It was perhaps appreciation of this aphorism's significance, perhaps
sheer abundance of the milk of human kindness, perhaps a harmonious
blending of both, which inspired Shelby's warm welcome to Kiska as he
was about to leave his office to join Ruth Temple.

"You shouldn't have come out so soon, Kiska," he protested, urging the
big Pole to a chair, and bringing him a glass of water. "Did you walk
all the way from Little Poland to see me?"

"I valked," answered Kiska, simply, his face working. "I vould like to
haf roon, Meester Shelby."

"Oh, I wouldn't run much just yet," laughed Shelby, kindly, trying to
head off the man's expression of gratitude. "Have another drink?
Perhaps you'd prefer some whiskey?"

Kiska declined, and harked back to his message.

"I vould like to haf roon to tank you, Meester Shelby. I got vife to
tank you. I got mooch cheeldren to tank you. I no taalk good. Dat
Eengleesh hard,--so? Eef I no taalk, I tink. I tink all day: Tank
you, Meester Shelby, tank you, Meester Shelby."

"You speak English very well," said Shelby, patting him on the
shoulder. "But you mustn't say any more about the matter."

He led him presently to talk of the quarry-workers and their families,
their wages, their hours, their recreation, their parish church, their
priest, their school; for Little Poland was sufficient unto itself; and
Kiska saw that he questioned with sympathy and understanding, and was
pleased. On the dial of his office clock Shelby noted the hour of his
appointment come and go, and from his window he caught a fleeting
glimpse of Ruth at hers. She wore his favorite hat, with a gleam of
red, which became her dark hair so well, and he divined that she had
put it on because of him. He longed to be out and away with her
between the autumn hedgerows, but there sat Kiska, garrulous of Poland
over seas and Little Poland by the quarries, and to Kiska the
politician inclined a patient ear.

The Pole rose at last, after a delighted hour, and Shelby saw his eye
light on a package of campaign lithographs of himself, which had come
that morning from the printers.

"Want one?" he asked.

Kiska exploded in incoherent gratitude.

"Take several," said Shelby, snapping an elastic band around a sheaf of
the pictures. "Give 'em to your friends to han