Was this trick being played on me? Were they now passing around the word to scratch me and write in the name of their friend, Jazz, who had not come out as a candidate before? I edged in closer to the man who was boosting Mr. Jazz for my job, and after listening for a while I learned that “Jazz Davis” was the man he was electioneering for. He caught sight of my face and said: “There he is now.” “My name isn't Jazz,” I said. I handed him my card. It read: JAS. J. DAVIS “What is it then?” he asked. I saw that I would lose a vote if I humiliated him. So I laughed and said: “Yep, I'm him. I was just kidding. I'm mighty glad to have your support. Have a cigar.” But I went away worried. My personal friends knew me as Jimmy. The men electioneered and handed cards to thought my name was Jazz. On the ballot my name would appear JAMES. Between “Jimmy,” “Jim,” “James” and “Jazz” my fellows would find lots of room for confusion. Every vote that I lost on that account would be due to my own carelessness. It taught me the lesson of exactness. I never again put out any puzzling language, but tried to stick to words that could not be misunderstood. CHAPTER XL FATHER TOOK ME SERIOUSLY There was an interval of nearly five months between the time of my election, which was in May, and the date of taking office in September. I decided to use this time to improve my qualifications for the job. I returned to the old home town of Sharon and took a course in a business college. Again I walked the old familiar paths where as a boy I had roamed the woods, fished the streams, brought the cows along the dusty road from pasture and blacked the boots of the traveling dudes at the hotel. There is a great thrill for the young man who comes home with a heart beating high with triumph, to see the love and admiration in his parents' eyes. Father shook my hand and said. “You're a good boy, Jimmy, and I'm proud of you. I always knew you'd make your mark.” “I haven't made much of a mark, dad,” I laughed. “City clerk isn't much. County recorder is what I'm aiming for.” In fact, I had gone so far as to dream of being auditor of the state of Indiana. A jolly old uncle who was there and who was looked on as the sage and wit of the Welsh settlement, began kidding me. “From city clerk to county recorder is only a step, Jimmy,” he said. “Next you'll be governor, and then president.” Father took it seriously. “You'll never be president, lad,” he said, “because you wasn't born in this country.” He seemed to think that was the only reason. He turned to my uncle and explained regretfully: “Of all my boys, only one has got the full American birthright. My youngest boy, Will, is the only one that can be president.” “Well,” said the jolly old uncle, “the rest of 'em can be government officers.”