there were a few mutterings here and there; and then some one sang out:
"None fer mine, Mister! I ain't took out my life insurance yet."
There was a general laugh at this, and with that laugh Peter knew that
all hope of more fighting was gone. He bade them a sardonic good-night,
hooked his arm through the orator's (who actually showed signs of an
intention to resume his speech), and bore him off down the street.
The three men walked half a block in silence, and then the little
stranger stopped short.
"I say," he said in a faintly unsteady voice, "I want to thank you for
taking that confounded dog off me. In another minute he might have torn
my coat, don't you know?"
"Oh, that's all right," said Peter, repressing a smile. "Kicking dogs is
rather a specialty of mine, and it isn't often I get the chance to
attend to two of them in one evening. I wouldn't give the episode
another thought."
The little man gave a sudden fierce laugh. "Oh, certainly not! It's a
mere bagatelle for a candidate for Mayor to get a hand-out like that
from a gathering of voters!"
"Mayor! I beg your pardon! Of course I didn't quite understand."
Whereupon Peter begged to introduce himself as an ardent amateur
statesman, a student of good government from New Hampshire to New
Zealand and from Plato to Lincoln Steffens, who had--er--come to Hunston
hoping to see something of the fight for reform. The candidate, in turn,
produced cards. It became apparent that he bore the name of J. Pinkney
Hare. And the upshot of the colloquy was that the two young men
presently found themselves invited to call upon Candidate Hare next
morning, and learn something of the situation.
"I'll be delighted," accepted Peter promptly,--"delighted."
"That's settled then. Good-night--and thanks awf'ly for your
assistance."
He pivoted on his trim heels, abruptly, and went away up the side
street.
Peter turned to Varney with a faint grin. "That chap gets his first
lesson in the art of being a reformer to-morrow. Curious, wasn't
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