change of scene, but she will neither consent to leave home
without me nor to interrupt my plans in order that I may
accompany her."

"Miss Davies has not told me your name," I made bold to
interpolate.

He stared, shook himself together, and quietly, remarked:

"I am Henry Packard."

The city's mayor! and not only that, the running candidate for
governor. I knew him well by name, even if I did not know, or
rather had not recognized his face.

"I beg pardon," I somewhat tremulously began, but he waved the
coming apology aside as easily, as he had my first attempt at
ingratiation. In fact, he appeared to be impatient of every
unnecessary word. This I could, in a dim sort of way,
understand. He was at the crisis of his fate, and so was his
party. For several years a struggle had gone on between the two
nearly matched elements in this western city, which, so far, had
resulted in securing him two terms of office--possibly because
his character appealed to men of all grades and varying
convictions. But the opposite party was strong in the state, and
the question whether he could carry his ticket against such odds,
and thus give hope to his party in the coming presidential
election, was one yet to be tested. Forceful as a speaker, he
was expected to reap hundreds of votes from the mixed elements
that invariably thronged to hear him, and, ignorant as I