So all evening the laughter and the chatter and the congratulations
went on, and it wasn't till long after midnight that Mr. Smith was
able to join Billy in the private room behind the "rotunda." Even
when he did, there was a quiet and a dignity about his manner that
had never been there before. I think it must have been the new halo
of the Conservative candidacy that already radiated from his brow. It
was, I imagine, at this very moment that Mr. Smith first realised
that the hotel business formed the natural and proper threshold of
the national legislature.

"Here's the account of the cash registers," said Billy.

"Let me see it," said Mr. Smith. And he studied the figures without a
word.

"And here's the letters about the palms, and here's Alphonse up to
yesterday--"

And then an amazing thing happened.

"Billy," said Mr. Smith, "tear'em up. I ain't going to do it. It
ain't right and I won't do it. They got me the license for to keep
the caff and I'm going to keep the caff. I don't need to close her.
The bar's good for anything from forty to a hundred a day now, with
the Rats' Cooler going good, and that caff will stay right here."

And stay it did.

There it stands, mind you, to this day. You've only to step round the
corner of Smith's Hotel on the side street and read the sign: LADIES'