"I'll give it up," said Sammie, dusting the ashes from the end of his cigar; "but the Lord have mercy on his brains if he thinks it has been for 'temperance and morality.'" Gilbert Allison arose and began a measured tread up and down the room. "Laugh some more, Sammie! I have not yet recovered my normal condition. I had as soon be dead as morbid. Laugh. Perhaps it will prove infectious." "I prefer to diagnose my case before applying a remedy," said the doctor. "Tell me your symptoms. What ails you?" "I am in a dilemma, Sammie--a dilemma. Tell me--will it be necessary for me to wear a staring placard on my back the rest of my mortal days in order that people may know I have everlastingly severed my connection with the liquor business?" Dr. Sammie was obliging enough to favor his guest with another hearty laugh. Then he blew two clouds of smoke over his head and watched it curl itself away around the chandelier, for notwithstanding the fact that he knew, or should have known, the effects of nicotine on the human system, this aspiring young member of the medical profession wasted money and nerve force in his slavery to a habit. "I tell you, my friend," he said, with an air of confidence, "there are a set of people in the world--mind you, I do not say that they are wise--who would tell you that by casting a single vote in a certain way you would stamp yourself as the vile opponent of the Trade's interests 'forevermore, amen!'" Gilbert Allison paused in his walk and looked into his friend's face a second. A sigh of relief escaped his lips, and immediately he found himself in the midst of a ringing laugh peculiar to one who has broken through the meshes of a dilemma and finds himself free. "The best speech of your life, Sammie! Thank you!" and hastily donning his hat he left the room without further comment. Dr. Sammie smiled when the door closed behind his friend. He had an idea whither his way tended. CHAPTER XI. AN AWAKENING. Judge Thorn sat looking over the evening paper. Lost in her own thoughts, Jean sat in the shadow of a palm idly thrumming a guitar, the soft pliant strains corresponding well with the expression of her face. A sudden exclamation from her father caused her to look up. His profile alone was visible to her, but there is an expression in outlines when one understands the subject, and she knew that something of an unusually puzzling or distressing nature engaged him. Eagerly watching, she played on softly. Presently the judge crushed the paper into a ball and with another exclamation of disgust threw it across the room where it rolled behind a scrap basket under a desk. At sight of so uncommon a procedure Jean went to her father's side. "What news, father mine? What news?" she asked. Judge Thorn pointed in the direction of the wadded paper.