"In loving memory of the late Tom Van Dorn, Recently engaged. For here, kind friends, we all must lie; Turn, Sinner, turn before ye die! _Take_ one." Seeing the box in the cloister and the brotherhood assembled upon the walnut bench Dr. Nesbit, who came in on a political errand, sniffed, and turned to Amos Adams. "Well, Amos," piped the Doctor, "how's Lincoln this evening?" The editor looked up amiably at the pudgy, white-clad figure of the Doctor, and replied casually though earnestly, "Well, Doc Jim, I couldn't seem to get Lincoln to-day. But I did have a nice chat with Beecher last night and he said: 'Your friend, Dr. Nesbit, I observe, is a low church Congregationalist.' And when I asked what he meant Beecher replied, 'High church Congregationalists believe in New England; low church Congregationalists believe in God!' Sounds like him--I could just see him twitching his lips and twinkling his eyes when it came!" Captain Morton looked suspiciously over his steel-bowed glasses to say testily: "'Y gory, Amos--that thing will get you yet--what say?" he asked, turning for confirmation to the Doctor. Amos Adams smiled gently at the Captain, but addressed the Doctor eagerly, as one more capable of understanding matters occult: "And I'll tell you another thing--Mr. Left is coming regularly now." "Mr. Left?" sniffed the Captain. "Yes," explained the editor carefully, "I was telling the Doctor last week that if I go into a dark room and blindfold myself and put a pencil in my left hand, a control who calls himself Mr. Left comes and writes messages from the Other Side." "Any more sense to 'em than your crazy planchette?" scoffed Captain Morton. The editor closed his eyes in triumph. "Read our editorial this week on President Cleveland and the Money Power?" he asked. The Captain nodded. "Mr. Left got it without the scratch of a 't' or the dot of an 'i' from Samuel J. Tilden." He opened his eyes to catch the astonishment of the listeners. "Humph!" snorted the Doctor in his high, thin voice, "Old Tilden seems to have got terribly chummy with Karl Marx in the last two years." "Well, I didn't write it, and Mary says it's not even like my handwrite. And that reminds me, Doctor, I got to get her prescription filled again. That tonic you give her seems to be kind of wearing off. The baby you know--" he stopped a moment vaguely. "Someway she doesn't seem strong." Only the Doctor caught Grant's troubled look. The Doctor snapped his watch, and looked at Brotherton. The Doctor was not the man to loaf long of an autumn evening before any election, and he turned to Amos and said: "All right, Amos--we'll fix up something for Mary a little later. Now, George--get out that Fourth Ward voters' list and let's get to work!"