surrender of the district into the clutches of the ring at the city
hall.

There is more than political rancor in this handbill.

There is more than a well defined, easily perceived personal malice in
this argument.

There is the poisoning sting of the truth--the truth said in a general
way, but striking in a special and a tender place.

The house is reached. Lockwin has not enlarged his establishment.
Politics, at least, has spared him the humiliation of moving on Prairie
Avenue. Politics has kept him "among the people."

It is the house which holds his boy. Lockwin did not adopt the boy for
money! The boy was not a step on the way to Congress! Lockwin did not
become a popular idol because he became a father to the foundling!

It is a cooling and a comforting thought. Yesterday, while Lockwin sat
in his study hurriedly preparing his statement to the party, on the
needs of the nation and a reformed civil service, the golden head was
as deep at a little desk beside. Pencil in hand, the child had
addressed the voters of the First District, explaining to them the
reasons why his papa should be elected. "Josephus," wrote curly-head;
"Groceries," he added; "Ice," he concluded; A, B, C, D and so on, with
a tail the wrong way on J.

It is a memory that robs politics of its bitterness. Lockwin opens the
door and kisses his wife affectionately. After all, he is a most