“Daughter!” “Oh, my goodness! I’m so excited! Oliver, you’re a darling for helping those old women out—and you never intended to say a word about it! It was heavenly! And you will go to the State Legislature, and then to Congress, and—Goodness knows how high up you may go!” Oliver’s smile broadened. “And the Gypsy Queen be hanged,” quoth he. Jane caught her breath. A startled look flashed into her eyes and was gone. “The Gypsy Queen be hanged!” she echoed stoutly. “Long live the King!” Oliver was still looking up at her. She stood at the top of the steps, the light from the open door falling athwart her radiant face, half in shadow, half in the warm, soft glow. Suddenly his heart began to pound—heavy, smothering blows against his ribs that had the effect of making him dizzy; as with vertigo. He continued to stare, possessed of a strange wonder, as she turned to her tall, gray-haired parent and laid both hands on his shoulders. “I wish I could say ‘gee whiz’ as Sammy says it,” she cried. “I feel all over just like one great big ‘gee whiz.’ Don’t you, Daddy?” The man of God took his daughter’s firm, round chin between his thumb and forefinger and shook it lovingly. “One ‘gee whiz’ in the family is enough,” said he. “I am glad you feel like one, however. You take me back twenty-five years, my dear. Your mother used to say ‘gee whiz’ when she felt like it. It is, after all, a rather harmless way of exploding.” “I know—but don’t you think it is wonderful?” she cried. “I mean, Oliver going to the Legislature and—” “Whoa, Jane!” interrupted Oliver, a trifle thickly. He wondered what was the matter with his voice. “Steady! Sammy’s crazy. I wouldn’t any more think of letting ’em put me up for—why, gee whiz! It’s too ridiculous for words.” Her face fell. “I must say I like ‘gee whiz’ only when it expresses enthusiasm,” she said. “It’s an awful joy-killer, the way you used it just then, Oliver.” “I don’t want any politics in mine,” he stated, almost sullenly. Then brightly: “If I had to choose between the two, I’d sooner go in for religion.” Mr. Sage smiled. “If more clean-minded, honest fellows like you, Oliver, were to go into politics, there wouldn’t have to be so many preachers in the land.” “What chance has an honest man got in politics, I’d like to know?” “The same chance that he has in the church. The people want honest men in politics, just as they demand honest men in their pulpits.” “That’s all right, sir, but it’s easier to be good in a church than it is in a barroom—and that’s just about the distinction.” “You forget we’ve got prohibition now,” said Jane, ironically. “There isn’t a barroom in the whole United States and there isn’t a single drop of intoxicating liquor.” She laughed derisively.