Briggs released his hold and stood up. “Excuse me,” he said, glancing at his wife. “I forgot myself.” He glanced at the prostrate figure. “Get out!” West rose, his face flushed with anger. He walked slowly toward the door. Then he turned. “You’ll pay for this!” he said. XX On the night of the election Farley stood at the telephone in Douglas Briggs’s library. “Oh, hello! hello!” he called. “Yes, this is Mr. Briggs’s house. Yes, Congressman Briggs. What?” He glanced at Guy, who sat at the table in the centre of the room. “They’ve shut me off!” he said, disgusted. He rang impatiently. Then he rang again. “Hello! Is this Central? Well, I want Central. Who are you? No, I rang off long ago. Well then, ring off, can’t you?” He turned toward Guy. “Damn that girl!” Then an exclamation in the telephone caused him to say, hastily, “Oh, excuse me.” He smiled at Guy. “Telephones are very corrupting things, aren’t they? What?” he continued, with his lips at the transmitter. “What’s that about manners? Oh, I _never_ had any? Excuse me, but I’m nervous. Yes, nervous. Well, give me the number, won’t you? 9-0-7 Spring. Oh, I beg your pardon, I thought you were Central.” He turned from the transmitter. “I’ve offended her again. What? Yes. Well, excuse me, please. Well, I’ll try. Thank you. Thank heaven, she’s rung off! Women ought never to be allowed to get near telephones.” He rang again. “Is this Central? Oh, yes, thanks. 9-0-7 Spring, please. Now for a wait!” He leaned weakly against the wall. Guy rose quickly. “Here, let me hold it for you awhile. You take a rest.” “Thanks.” Farley sank into Guy’s chair. “I’ve spent most of the day at that ’phone,” he said, with a long sigh. “Yes, waiting,” Guy was saying. “Eh? What a very fresh young person that is, Farley. Yes,” he exclaimed, snappishly, “9-0-7. Yes,” he repeated, loudly, “Spring. Who do you want, Farley?” Farley stood up. “Give it to me.” As Guy returned to his seat, Farley cried: “Hello! Is Harlowe there? Yes, J. B. Harlowe, your political man. Well, ask him to come to the ’phone. Just listen to the hum of that office, will you?” he said, dreamily. “I can hear the old ticker going tick, tick, tick, tick, tick. The boys must be hustling to-night.” Guy, who had taken his place at the desk again, rested his head on both hands. “You love newspaper work, don’t you, Farley?”