Mr. Jaffry wrinkled up his eyes, chuckled softly, then stepped to the door of the unimportant one. Before opening it, he turned. "Mrs. Harvey Herrington been in?" "Twice with a committee." "Any idea what she wanted?" Betty was aware that the whimsical and roundabout Mr. Jaffry knew everything about everybody in Whitewater. She was further aware that he had, undoubtedly, reasons of his own for questioning her. He was always asking questions, anyway. Worse than a Chinaman. And for some reason--perhaps because he was Martin Jaffry--you always answered his questions. "Yes," said Betty. "She wants to pledge him to suffrage." "Umm! Yes, I see! You wouldn't be against that yourself, would you?" "Naturally not. I'm secretary of the Second Ward Suffrage Club." "Umm! Yes, yes!" With which illuminating comment, Mr. Jaffry tapped on Penny Evans' door, opened it and entered. "Spare a minute?" he inquired. "Sure," said Penny; "two, ten! Take a chair." "No," replied Mr. Jaffry, "I won't take a chair. Think better on my feet. I'm in a bit of a quandary. Suppose you tell me what this important paper is that George is drawing up. Do you know?" "I do." "Is he coming out against suffrage?" "Flatly." "Umm!" Mr. Jaffry flicked his cap about. "I want to see George. He mustn't do that." "Say, Mr. Jaffry, you haven't swung over----" "Not at all. It's tactics. I ought to see him." "Why not run out to his house----" "Just been there. Ran away. Some one there I'm afraid of." "Telephone?" Mr. Jaffry shook his head and lowered his voice. "With Betty hearing it at this end, and the committee from the Antis sitting it out down there--the telephone's on the stair landing----" He pursed his lips, waved his cap slowly to and fro and observed it with a whimsical expression on his sandy face, then glanced out of the window. He stepped closer, looking sharply down. A very fat boy with pink cheeks and a downcast expression was sitting on a fire-plug. Mr. Jaffry leaned out. "Pudge," he called, "come up here a minute." On the Remington and Evans stationery he penciled a note, which he sealed. Then he scribbled another--to Mrs. George Remington, asking her to hand George the inclosure the moment he appeared from his work. The two he slipped into a large envelope. The very fat boy stood before him. "Want to make a quarter, Pudge? Take this letter, right now, to Mrs. George Remington. Give it to her personally. It's the old Remington place, you know." He felt in his change pocket. It was empty. He hesitated, turned to Evans, then, reconsidering, produced a dollar bill from another pocket and gave it to the boy. "Now run," he said.