The group rushed pell-mell down the hall and burst into the room which Neenan had occupied. But Mr. Neenan had gone, taking with him the sweet flavor of his revenge. Over the window sill dangled a wire attached to a telephone instrument. It ran out along the ledge and connected with the special wire that had been installed in Forsythe’s suite. The crafty Neenan had lately feared that his service to Forsythe would be repudiated, and had prepared the instrument of his revenge beforehand. And in the convention hall at this moment the uproar had subsided to the point where one of Forsythe’s former adherents could make himself heard. “Mr. Chairman,” he said, “I move that we dispense with the roll call and instruct the secretary of the convention to cast one ballot for Mr. Warren Hammond as our candidate for Governor.” It was seconded and carried without a dissenting voice. A few minutes later a local man came across Boss Quaid as he was slipping quietly out of a side entrance of the convention hall. “Not leaving us, are you, chief?” the other asked. “Yep,” he sighed. “Barney’s been intimating lately that I’m a has-been. Barney’s right.” VI A week after Warren Hammond had taken the oath of office as Governor of the State, he dropped a line to one Joseph Morris, a radio announcer employed by the local broadcasting station, suggesting to Mr. Morris that it might be to his advantage to call and see him. “Mr. Morris,” the new Governor began when the young man appeared, “I feel that I owe you an apology and a reward as well, in case anything in the line of jobs that I have to dispose of would appeal to you. I’ve looked you up, and the only thing I find against you is that on a certain evening when you were acting as announcer at our party’s keynote pre-convention dinner, you took a chance and went home early, thereby making me Governor of the State.” He paused and chuckled at Morris’s utter bewilderment. “Well, it’s the answer to the ghost story that’s been puzzling a lot of people since last spring--how I was able to get a speech of mine from that dinner when I apparently wasn’t there. It’s so darn simple! “When I left the table licked that night and went out the side door, I almost ran into your little sound-proof announcer’s booth with its handy little microphone all ready for use, and its handy little switch to cut off the microphone out on the table so that I was able to stay right there and substitute my speech for Mr. Jim Neenan’s horseplay, switching back to catch his applause and give it to my radio audience as my own. At that I guess I owe Jim something, too. But if there is anything I can do for you, let me know.” THE END [Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in the October 1923 issue of McClure’s Magazine.]