“And, doctor,” said Halliday, facing around to the Reverend Mr. Murrell, who stood solemn in his black garments and white tie, “what happened to you?” The old negro glanced all around him cautiously and even craned his neck to peer into the room beyond. “Well, suh,” he began, “Judge Ernest ’as out this mornin’ to hyah me preach, an’ aftah service was ovah, he drawed me to one side, and ’gin to talk politics. He ast me how I felt towa’ds you all, Mistuh Halliday, an’--Ah didn’ like to say it--but you done tol’ me, ’membah.” “That’s right,” said George, urging the parson out of his hesitation, “you made it strong, I hope.” “Wellum, Ah tol’ the judge that Ah wasn’ pow’ful strong on you any moah, sense, Ah said, you all hadn’t felt ’sposed to help us ’ith the subscription fo’ the new roof on ouah chu’ch.” “That was clever,” said George, “damned clever--I beg your pardon.” The old negro’s eyes had widened till their whites showed, and he had raised his hands, holding up his yellow palms before George. “But go on.” “Well, suh, the jedge ’as al’ays had an interest in ouah spiritual welfare, an’ so he ’lowed we’d ought to be holpen out some.” The old man paused and swallowed ceremoniously. “An’ so, gen’lemen, he offered me a hundred an’ fifty dollahs.” The dark eyes of the old man shone with a strange new luster. “What did you say?” “Well, suh,” the preacher hesitated, “Ah took it.” George brought his hand down on the parson’s shoulder with a heavy slap and he laughed. “Good, Bishop, good.” They counted the money out on the table--exactly four hundred and ninety dollars, the first campaign fund Macochee had ever known. Then they laughed and laughed and laughed. When Halliday had laid his plans for the morrow’s battle before his companions, he leaned back in his chair and said, turning to the Reverend Rice Murrell: “I don’t suppose, Bishop, that you approve of the use of money in politics, do you?” “No, _suh_,” the old preacher replied, with a smart gravity, “an’ somepin’ done tol’ me, yist’day, when the jedge come to see me, that it ’as jus’ providential that this much o’ that filthy lucah ’as removed from corruptin’ ouah ’lections by bein’ placed in mah han’s.” His rolling eyes bulged and he dribbled at the mouth as he fingered the pile of bills. “Well,” said George, “don’t put too big a roof on the church, and remember--Gooseville’s going to vote to-morrow.” “Oh, nevah you feah ’bout Gooseville, mah brothah--she’ll be votin’ early an’ of’en to-morrah, an’ she’ll vote right.” George Halliday was mayor of Macochee but one term. That is a trick that has been played once in every town in this free republic--but it can never be played twice. A SECRET OF STATE