rather, that feature of our national customs which precedes the
selection of the People's Choice. First thing, of course, the People's
Choice had to take a run over the country--which was a good thing, too,
because he didn't know much about it--and let the people in general
know that he was their choice. I went along to tell the other people
how he broke it to them."

I confess I sat up at this, for there was now so supreme an innocence
in Dan Anderson's eye that one might have been morally certain that
something was coming. "From dogs to politics--wasn't that a little
singular?" I asked.

"Yes," said he; "but you have to be versatile in journalism. The
regular man who was to have gone on that special presidential car got
slugged at an art gatherin'. I didn't ask for the place. I just went
and told the managin' editor I was ready if he would give me an order
for expense money. It wouldn't have been good form for him to look up
and pay any attention to me, so I got the job. I needed to see the
country just as much as the People's Choice did.

"Three other fellows went along,--newspaper men. I was the only real
journalist. We did the presidential tour for ten towns a day. I
watched what the other fellows did, and in about two hours it was easy.
Everything's easy if you think so. Folks made a lot of fuss about
gettin' along in the world. That's all a mistake.

"People's Choice tore it off in fine shape. Comin' into Basswood
Junction he turns to his Honorable Secretary, and says he, 'Jimmy,
what's this?' Jimmy turns to his card cabinet, and says he: 'Prexie,
this is Basswood Junction. Three railroads come in here--and get away