"Well, Jessica," she told her cousin, "I suppose we shall know before we go to bed how I stand. But at this moment, after all I've seen today and realizing the state our city affairs are in, I will own to you in confidence that I hope--honestly and earnestly,--that I am defeated. John Allingham may have the mayor's chair and welcome. I've seen enough of it already, and I tell you I am sick at heart." "And what if it is Barnaby Burke who comes off victorious?" asked her cousin. "Well, I am not sufficiently discouraged to be willing to have that happen," said Gertrude. "Still--between you and me,--I don't 'want the job,' as I heard one man express it today. But, even if I lose the election, it will always be a comfort to me to remember how the working-people came out for me,--as well as to know just who, among my father's old friends, can be reckoned as mine. And now, I want a little nap before dinner." Down at the headquarters of the City Reform Club Judge Bateman and his colleagues awaited the result of the count. With them were many of the "Progressive Workers," eager for news. The Union Club, the hotels and Burke's headquarters were crowded, while John Allingham and his trusted lieutenants were gathered at the Municipal League rooms. Returns came in slowly and the crowds on the street clamored for news faster than the bulletins could be given out. At ten o'clock John Allingham was obliged to retreat and go home, physically worn out. The accident of the previous evening, combined with the excitement of the day, had proved too much for him. He was already in bed when the final returns reached him by telephone. Then he shut and locked his door, refusing to speak to another soul that night,--not even to his mother when she came up to see if he had taken the doctor's medicine. Gertrude Van Deusen, too, remained in her room alone. Face to face with the decisive moment of victory or defeat, she could not see anyone. She was too tired to care much whether she had won or lost, although she recalled now, as a hopeful augury, that she had never yet been defeated for any office for which she had run in the various women's societies to which she belonged. "Let John Allingham have the place, if he can get it," she was saying to herself for the fiftieth time, as the mantel clock chimed out the half-past ten. "I am swept under by a queer psychological wave of repulsion. I hope I shall lose." But she was aroused just then by the sound of women's voices on the stairs,--laughing and chattering,--and she felt the note of triumph ringing through her brain as they came up to her door. "Hurrah for Roma's Woman Mayor!" cried the first one to enter. "Here's to Her Honor the Mayor." At the same moment John Allingham and Barnaby Burke were saying to themselves with a choice of words befitting their habitual language: "Defeated! and by a Woman!" And Burke added: "I wonder now, just what happened in that cab last night. That was a mistake." CHAPTER X