display-windows. For them, the season of seasons, the time of times, was
at hand.

To a certain new reporter on the "Despatch" the stir and gayety of the
streets meant little more than that the days had come when it was night
in the afternoon, and that he was given fewer political assignments.
This was annoying, because Beasley's candidacy for the governorship had
given me a personal interest in the political situation. The nominating
convention of his party would meet in the spring; the nomination was
certain to carry the election also, and thus far Beasley showed more
strength than any other man in the field. "Things are looking his way,"
said Dowden. "He's always worked hard for the party; not on the stump,
of course," he laughed; "but the boys understand there are more
important things than speech-making. His record in Congress gave him the
confidence of everybody in the state, and, besides that, people always
trust a quiet man. I tell you if nothing happens he'll get it."

"I'm FER Beasley," another politician explained, in an interview,
"because he's Dave Beasley! Yes, sir, I'm FER him. You know the boys say
if a man is only FOR you, in this state, there isn't much in it and he
may go back on it; but if he's FER you, he means it. Well, I'm FER
Beasley!"

There were other candidates, of course; none of them formidable; but I
was surprised to learn of the existence of a small but energetic faction
opposing our friend in Wainwright, his own town. ("What are you
surprised about?" inquired Dowden. "Don't you know what our folks are
like, YET? If St. Paul lived in Wainwright, do you suppose he could run
for constable without some of his near neighbors getting out to try and
down him?")