Presently a whisper arose that the greatest and most up-to-date of all Stunt elections was going to end, like the wonderful sky sign, in a fizzle. Certainly that fizzle had grown symbolical. The U. P. was in danger of being hoist with its own weapons. Even the other side--for generations Blackhampton had been notoriously a “sporting” city--did not try to minimize the humor and the significance of the case. At the end of a week of nightly fiascos, while John Endor Is Jannock seemed to wax ever brighter in the heavens and its _vis-à-vis_ more dismally waned, the sportsmen of Blackhampton--even the dogs were held to be sportsmen in Blackhampton--took a continual delight in the affair. Sir Munt had surpassed himself. He looked like winning the election off his own bat. Blackhampton grew prouder than ever of its Old Man. He had an amazing faculty of “getting right home.” And there were other shots in his locker. The U. P. airships, hovering proudly above Market Square, grew subject to mysterious deflations. But the greatest coup of all, the Old Man’s masterstroke, was the “running in” of Aunt Mittie, that voluble and truculent lady, on a charge of brawling, and her admonition from the bench of the City Hall. As polling day drew on the fun grew faster and more furious. Newspaper bombast, of which the candidate of the Ring had a complete monopoly, could only be countered by the simple truth. And the clear facts of the case, presented with force and skill, were very effective. It was all very well to obscure the issues at stake by the arts of up-to-date journalism, but those in touch with the situation soon began to realize that what Sir Munt called “hot air by the cubit” had lost its virtue. John Endor, in the meantime, was adding daily to the number of his friends. In the man himself there was something British, forthright and sincere, which did much to sustain the cause for which he was fighting. That cause was the honesty of public life. Such an ideal ceased to be possible the moment an all-powerful Trust was allowed to govern the country through its own nominees. As defined by John Endor, there could be no mistaking the issue. Much was at stake. Democracy was not merely on its trial, it was fighting for its life. Could the shrewd sons and daughters of the Midlands, lulled like so many of their kind by false catchwords and pleasant sophistries, be roused in time from their sleep? The question was now being asked by the wisest heads in the land. And a wave of relief flowed over the country when it was known that the new Home Secretary, his colors nailed to the mast in open defiance of the U. P. and all its works, had been returned for East Blackhampton by a majority of nearly five thousand votes. XL