It was even worse than he could have imagined, for Jones dug up a bloody ghost to walk at every political meeting. Not only were all Wat Harlow's sins of omission and commission paraded in the _Standard_, but he was proclaimed as the implacable foe of higher education. In vain did his home paper print his record, of beneficent bills introduced, of committee work on behalf of the district schools, and his great speech setting forth the need of a new normal school building. Jones had one trump card left in his hand, and the day before the convention he played it. It was a handbill, yellow with age and ragged around the edges, but still showing a badly spelled, abominably punctuated story in vermilion ink, with a weeping angel at the top and a rooster and two prancing stallions at the bottom. It proved Wat Harlow the undying foe of the State University. Despite all the _Herald's_ valiant work, that nightmare was Harlow's undoing. The nomination went to a rising politician at the opposite side of the congressional district. A great change had come over the sentiment, of the state, since the day when the University had been the favorite tool of the political grafters. Every village had its band of rooters for the Alma Mater, and when the nominating convention came to a close it was apparent that Wat Harlow was hardly an "also ran." Defeat was galling enough; but the _Standard's_ expressions of glee were unbearable. Jap's red hair stood on end, "like quills upon the fretful porcupine," as he stood at his case and threw the type into the stick, hot from the wrath in his soul. The paper was printed, as usual, on Thursday; but Friday brought a change in the even tenor of Bloomtown's way. Jones, of the _Standard_, was a passenger on the eastbound train that left Barton a little after noon. His destination was Bloomtown. "I am looking for a cross-eyed, slit-eared pup by the name of Herron," was the greeting he flung into the _Herald's_ sanctum. The door to the composing room was open. Jap looked up wearily. "Would you mind sitting down and keeping quiet till I finish setting up this address to the bag of wind that edits the Barton _Standard_?" he said impersonally. Jones, of the _Standard_, sat down and gaped at the long, lank figure on the stool. A moment he went limp and terrified; then he rallied his courage. "Do you unwind all at once?" he asked, as Jap disentangled his legs from the stool. "I take back what I said about a pup. You're a full-grown dog, all right. I wasn't looking for a brick-top, either. No wonder you have a weakness for vermilion."