"I am afeard that folks 'll think we have Catholic blood in the family," he complained, shaking the paper nervously. "Mystery is the blood of progress, Pap," assured Bill gravely. "If you will notice, the men that get there always have a skeleton rattling a limb now and then." "Mis' Bowers don't like it," he objected. "I had to quit the Methodists and be immersed in the Baptists afore she'd have me, and now she's fairly tearin' up the wind over this talk about me bein' a Roman. You gotta correct it!" "We have given you a hundred dollars' worth of advertising for a measly two-dollar bill," declared Jap emphatically. "The columns of the _Herald_ are free to news. Advertising at our regular rates. Bill will give you particulars." "Dollar an inch for display," crisped Bill; "ten cents a line for readers." He seated himself, pencil in band, as he added, "payable in advance." "Make a flat rate of ten dollars, as it is the Judge," advised Jap judicially. The Mayor-elect decided to let it alone; but Jap mentioned the fact, in the next issue of the _Herald_, that Judge Bowers had alleged that he was born in New England, of Puritan stock, and had no Italian sympathies--which lucid statement abundantly satisfied Judge and Mrs. Bowers, but set the town to wondering what the Judge was hiding in the dim annals of his past. CHAPTER XI "I worked a bunch of passes out of the agent for that Indian medicine show," announced Bill, washing his hands. "Want to take her, Jap?" and he jerked his head in the direction of the front door, where Isabel Granger was passing. "No; I'm going out to Flossy's a while. I want to talk some things over with her." There was no further discussion, for at that moment Rosy Raymond floated by, and Bill started out in eager pursuit. Ever since the election, Jap had been obsessed by a disquieting foreboding. One of Mayor Bowers's first official acts was to authorize the opening of a second saloon on Main street, and he was rapidly pushing the work of erecting two new business houses which, rumor declared, were to house other thirst palaces. Hitherto the natives and the surrounding territory had been amply supplied by Holmes; but Bloomtown was growing beyond the reach of one saloon. Holmes had come across with a double-sized license, under promise of the Mayor that he should continue to have a monopoly of the trade. And when the good people of the various churches waited upon Judge Bowers to protest against what they were disposed to call the "introduction of Satan into their town," he called their attention to the need for municipal revenue. If one saloon was a help, two saloons would double that help. The town had already begun to show signs of genuine progress. It had to build a calaboose to take care of the saloon's patrons, and the regular fines for plain drunks almost paid the cost of the court that collected them.