The Honorable Alpheus Mooney was a young man serving his first term in the Massachusetts Legislature as Representative for the Ostable County district. He was extremely anxious to continue his service there, had been renominated and was now facing the ordeal of the election which would take place early in November. His manner as he entered the library was a curious mixture of importance, deference and a slight uneasiness. “How do you do, Cap’n Townsend?” he gushed, changing his hat from his right hand to his left and extending the former. “How do you do, sir?” He seized the Townsend hand and shook it heartily. The captain endured the shaking rather than shared in it. He did not ask his caller to be seated. “How are you, Mooney?” he said. “Well, what brought you over here this wet night?” Mr. Mooney sat without waiting for an invitation. He placed his hat upon the floor, clasped his hands in his lap, unclasped them again, crossed his knees, cleared his throat, and agreed that the evening was a wet one. Townsend, still standing, thrust his own hands into his trousers pockets. “Well, what’s the matter?” he asked, dismissing the subject of the weather. Mooney once more cleared his throat. “Oh--er--oh, nothing in particular, Cap’n,” he said. “Nothing much. I was over here in Harniss and--and I thought I would drop in for a minute, that’s all. I haven’t seen you since your--er--sad loss--and I--er--I can’t tell you how sorry I was to learn of your bereavement. It was a great shock to me, a dreadful shock.” Townsend’s face was quite expressionless. “All right,” he observed. “Nabby said you wanted to see me about something important. Well?” “Well--well, I--er--I did. Not so very important, perhaps--but ... you were going out, weren’t you, Cap’n Townsend?” “Yes. I am going out in five minutes. Perhaps a little less.” “I wouldn’t think of keeping you, Cap’n, of course not.” “All right.” “Cap’n Townsend, I--er--well, I am going to be--I am going to speak right out, as man to man. I know you would rather have me speak that way.” Townsend nodded. “There aren’t any women here, as I know of,” he agreed. “Go ahead and speak.” “Yes.” Mr. Mooney seemed to find the “man to man” speaking difficult. “Well,” he began, “it has come to my ears--far be it from me to say it is true; I don’t believe it is, Cap’n Townsend--but I have _heard_ that you weren’t so very--well, anxious to see me reëlected Representative. I have heard stories that you said you didn’t care whether they reëlected me or not. Now, as I say, I don’t believe you ever said anything of the kind. In fact, I as good as know you didn’t.” He paused and looked up eagerly, seeking confirmation of the expressed disbelief. The Townsend face was still quite expressionless, nor was the reply altogether satisfactory. “All right,” said the captain again. “If you know it, then you don’t need to worry, do you?” “No. No-o; but--you haven’t said any such thing, have you, Cap’n Townsend?”