“Behind two row’s of barbed wire, one of ’em charged with electricity, in a pleasant Southern camp. He’s a member of the Millionaires’ Club, there. They caught him on that chemical deal. Supposed to be wholesale drugs; really high explosives.” “Any other of our extinguished local lights heard from?” “Muller, the saloon-keeper, is down there, too. But not in the Millionaires’ Club. He’s gardening. One dollar per diem. Martin Dolge is in Mexico.” “What about Gunst and Klink and the church outfit?” “They’ve promised to be good. Three of their religious weeklies are scheduled to quit. Gordon Fliess has dropped his financial support of the German-American dailies. We’re going to go stale for lack of opposition’ if this keeps on,” prophesied Andy sadly. “Cassius did n’t run across Mart Embree down there, did he?” queried Jeremy. “Ay-ah. He did. Says ‘Smiling Mart’ was running around like a little, worried dog, wagging his tail anxiously and trying to make his peace.” “Peace is still Governor Embree’s specialty, then?” put in the assistant, from her perch. “Why, I guess it always will be, so long as there’s a German vote in Centralia,” returned the general manager. “But what does ‘Smiling Mart’ amount to, now? We’ve got the whole bunch licked to a frazzle, and licked for keeps.” “Do you think so. So easily?” Andy Galpin looked intently at Mrs. Jeremy Robson. “Maybe I’m wrong,” he said meekly. “You think it is n’t over?” The little, tawny head was shaken emphatically. “I think that we shall have it all to fight again,” she said, in her unchanged, precise, and subtly caressing manner of speech. “When?” The chief and the general manager challenged her with one voice. “When Germany’s peace offer is made. Then you will see Governor Embree and all that is left of Germany here making their fight for a peace which will be worse than war. That is why I will not listen to Jem’s giving up the paper.” “What do you think of that, Andy?” asked Jem. The general manager smiled his slow, homely, friendly smile at Marcia Robson. “I think what I’ve thought since the first minute I set eyes on her,” he said: “that she’s a wise guy. Boss, we haven’t won this war over here until we’ve won this war over there, and don’t you forget it! By the way, there’s quite a little talk in Washington, Kimball tells me, about the new Senator-elect from Centralia.” “I blush, modestly and prettily,” retorted Jem. “Or--Marcia, you do it for me. I’d rather stay here and run the old Guardian.” “I’d rather have you,” returned Andy, with rueful emphasis. “We shall be back for the fight that is coming,” promised Marcia. Galpin’s eyes wandered slowly about the room and returned upon Marcia. “It gives me the shivers,” he said, “to think how near we were to losing out on the whole fight when Buddy Higman went and got you. I’d like to have heard Buddy’s argument.”