“Oh, please, Mr. Stirling,” said Minna. “I want to ask you a lot of questions about the convention.” “Hush, Minna,” said Miss De Voe. She was nettled that Peter should refuse, and that her niece could stoop to beg of “a criminal lawyer and ward politician,” as she put it mentally. But she was determined not to show it “We are sorry. Good-evening. Home, Oliver.” So they did not learn from Peter why the convention laughed. The subject was brought up at dinner, and Dorothy asked the opinion of the voters of the family. “Probably he had made a fluke of some kind,” one said. “More probably he had out-sharped the other side,” suggested a second. “It will be in the papers to-morrow,” said the first suggestor. The three women looked in the next day’s papers, but the reporters were as much at sea in regard to the Stirling-sixth-ward incident, as had been the rank-and-file in the convention. Three took their views from Maguire, and called it “shameful treason,” and the like. Two called it “unprincipled and contradictory conduct.” One alone said that “Mr. Stirling seemed to be acting conscientiously, if erratically.” Just what effect it had had on the candidates none of the papers agreed in. One said it had killed Porter. Another, that “it was a purely personal matter without influence on the main question.” The other papers shaded between these, though two called it “a laughable incident.” The opposition press naturally saw in it an entire discrediting of both factions of the Democratic party, and absolute proof that the nominee finally selected was unfit for office. Unable to sift out the truth, the ladies again appealed to the voters of the family. “Oh,” said one, “Stirling did something tricky and was caught in it.” “I don’t believe that,” said Miss De Voe. “Nor I,” said Dorothy. “Well, if you want to make your political heeler an angel, I have no objection,” laughed the enfranchised being. “I don’t think a man who made that speech about the children can be a scoundrel,” said Dorothy. “I don’t either,” said Minna. “That’s the way you women reason,” responded he of the masculine intellect. “Because a man looks out for some sick kittens, ergo, he is a political saint. If you must take up with politicians, do take Republicans, for then, at least, you have a small percentage of chance in your favor that they are gentlemen.” “Don’t be a Pharisee, Lispenard,” said Miss De Voe, utilizing Peter’s rebuke. “Then don’t trouble me with political questions. Politics are so vulgar in this country that no gentleman keeps up with them.” Miss De Voe and the two girls dropped the “vulgar” subject, but Miss De Voe said later: “I should like to know what they laughed at?” “Do ask him—if he comes to call on you, this winter, Cousin Anneke.” “No. I asked him once and he did not come.” Miss De Voe paused a moment. “I shall not ask him again,” she added. “I don’t think he intends to be rude,” said Dorothy.