"No, that speech she made in July did it," he said. "It was a jo-darter all right, that speech!" laughed Briggs to himself as he went back to his desk. On his way to Mrs. Walton's residence, the Judge passed two men. "Bill," one of them was saying to the other, "we can't never get rid of our wives any more, nowhere, not even when we attend a political convention. Apt as not my wife will be my alternate!" "Apt as not, you'll be hers, you damn fool!" he retorted. As the Judge came up on the steps Mrs. Walton appeared in the door. At the sight of him there she threw up her hands and cried: "Don't tell me we are defeated, John Regis, I can't bear it!" "Susan, you may now run for sheriff of this county, there are enough more women than men in it to elect you. And you've got 'em in your pocket!" he concluded, laughing as he seized her hands. "Oh!" she sobbed, sinking down into a chair. "I thought this day would never end. Such suspense!" "Showed the white feather, too, didn't you? I called at your office early in the afternoon and you were not there," he teased. "I couldn't stand it. I felt that if we should be defeated, I must hear the news in my own house--in reach of my bed!" she sobbed, half laughing. "If I was twenty years younger, Susan, I'd ask you to marry me this night by way of celebrating our victory," he said, looking down at her. "If I was twenty years younger there'd be no such victory to celebrate, John," she replied, "so you wouldn't have asked me!" "You should see Coleman and Acres. They are taking all the credit of the election, strutting like fighting cocks on the square!" "Let them have it. I'd rather the world should think the men gave us the ballot willingly, and that it should never be known that we beat them out of it," she said, heaving a sigh of relief. * * * * * A young man and a young woman were seated behind the vine on the veranda three doors down the avenue. His arm was about her waist, her head upon his shoulder. The moon was doing what she could to cover them with the mottled shadows of leaves. "Could you manage it in two weeks, dear? I want you for my wife before I begin my own campaign! We'd make a honeymoon of it then, canvassing it together!" he pleaded softly. "I'll marry you, Bob, but not for such a honeymoon as that! Oh, I'm sick and tired of politics. I never want to hear the word again. I'll just barely vote for you, that's all!" she sighed. "Upon my word," he laughed, drawing her closer and kissing her. "I thought you'd be keen for the canvass." [Illustration: "'_Bob, I'll make a confession to you. It's been horrid, from first to last. When we are married I want to sit at home and darn your socks--you do wear holes in them, don't you?_'"]