"Yes; I'm slickin' over my conscience, too. I feel awnrier about it
because he done me a good turn once, in the Hayes and Wheeler campaign. I
went to a meetin' to hear him speak, and he got sick and couldn't."
Warren Smith addressed the company. "Well, is this all for the present?"
he asked. "Is everything settled?"
"Wait a minute," said Keating. "I'd like to hear from the 'Herald' about
its policy, if Miss Sherwood will tell us."
"Yes, indeed," she answered. "It will be very simple. Don't you think
there is only one course to pursue? We will advocate no one very
energetically, but we will print as much of the truth about Mr. McCune as
we can, with delicacy and honor, in this case, but, as I understand it,
the work is almost all to be done amongst the delegates. We shall not
mention our plan at all--but--but, when the convention is over, and he is
nominated, we will get out an extra; and I am so confident of your success
that I'll tell you now that the extra will be ready the night before the
convention. We will contrive that Mr. Harkless shall not receive his copy
of the paper containing the notice of the change of date, and I think the
chance of his seeing it in any Rouen paper may be avoided. That is all, I
think."
"Thank you," said Keating. "That is certainly the course to follow." Every
one nodded, or acquiesced in words; and Keating and Bence came over to
Helen and engaged her in conversation. The others began to look about for
their hats, vaguely preparing to leave.
"Wait a minute," said the judge. "There's no train due just now." And
Minnie appeared in the doorway with a big pitcher of crab-apple cider,
rich and amber-hued, sparkling, cold, and redolent of the sweet-smelling
orchard where it was born. Behind Miss Briscoe came Mildy Upton with
glasses and a fat, shaking, four-storied jelly-cake on a second tray. The
judge passed his cigars around, and the gentlemen took them blithely, then
hesitatingly held them in their fingers and glanced at the ladies,
uncertain of permission.
"Let me get you some matches," Helen said, quickly, and found a box on the
table and handed it to Keating. Every one sat beaming, and fragrant veils
of smoke soon draped the room.
"Why do you call her 'Miss Sherwood'?" Boswell whispered in Keating's ear.
"That's her name."