Some men are so suspicious that they won’t take stock in anything except the thermometer; under the present climatic conditions in Hades, that is bound to rise. The time for prejudice is past. It may be necessary to remind the opposition that we are a populous community. We have not taken into our limits any farm lands. In all our borders there are only solid blocks of houses with here and there a football park, where the players may break each other’s bones on the gridiron. There are other institutions to which we might refer with pride, but the metropolitan press is stirring them up with a muck rake. We own up to all the charges made and herein we differ from summer resorts up on the earth, where they sit on the lid and say their prayers, and then lie a little about the real condition of things in their community. The Stygianite, who lives in the earth and not on it, cannot prevaricate without being found out. He owns up whenever he has to, and that is pretty often. Up on earth, however, descendants of Ananias are as numberless as the hairs on the head of an after-taking advertisement. I do not desire to answer the idiotorial attack of the editor of the Cimmerian Chatterbox, for I agree with him that it is better to boil your candidates in printers’ ink before election than to roast them afterward. If I decide to accept the office which the chairman of the Roman executive committee assures me will be tendered to the only Nero, I promise you all exemption from taxes, divorce without six months’ probation in the backwoods—anything and everything you ask shall be yours. You deposit the ballot; Nero will do the rest. Among the reforms I intend to institute will be a wholesale cleaning of Hades. I will put fresh paint on the houses daily to keep Alexander from wearing out the buildings by leaning against them. I will install couches in the public parks for men who have run for office so much that they must be tired, and I will not debar any of the candidates I defeat from six feet of Squatters’ Ground. I will even distribute campaign mirrors to others who would like to see themselves as I see them. Of course I believe that the man should seek the office, but the only reason I ask for your votes is so that I may have another office to put on my official letter-head. I’m not sure I can find room for it, but I can increase the size of the paper and perhaps employ another typewriter. Don’t be like a balance wheel, ready to move in either direction on the slightest provocation. The man who borrows trouble on election day must return the goods if he bets on the wrong man. Never mind if the reformers ask: “Where did he get it?” Every politician knows where his graft comes from; call on me the day after election and I’ll see that you all get yours. Don’t sell your vote for a mess of political pottage without seeing the color of my long green.