home, which is just about there, in an hour."

"I see," said Schwab. But all he saw was a finger in a white
glove, and long eyelashes tangled in a gray veil.

For many minutes, or for all Schwab knew, for many miles, the
young lady pointed out to him the places along the Hudson, of

which he had read in the public school history, and quaint old
manor houses set in glorious lawns; and told him who lived in

them. Schwab knew the names as belonging to down-town
streets, and up-town clubs. He became nervously humble,

intensely polite, he felt he was being carried as an honored
guest into the very heart of the Four Hundred, and when the

car jogged slowly down the main street of Yonkers, although a
policeman stood idly within a yard of him, instead of

shrieking to him for help, "Izzy" Schwab looked at him
scornfully across the social gulf that separated them, with

all the intolerance he believed becoming in the upper classes.
"Those bicycle cops," he said confidentially to Miss Forbes,

"are too chesty."
The car turned in between stone pillars, and under an arch of

red and golden leaves, and swept up a long avenue to a house
of innumerable roofs. It was the grandest house Mr. Schwab

had ever entered, and when two young men in striped waistcoats
and many brass buttons ran down the stone steps and threw open

the door of the car, his heart fluttered between fear and
pleasure.

Lounging before an open fire in the hall were a number of
young men, who welcomed Winthrop delightedly and, to all of

whom Mr. Schwab was formally presented. As he was introduced
he held each by the hand and elbow and said impressively, and

much to the other's embarrassment, "WHAT name, please?"
Then one of the servants conducted him to a room opening on

the hall, from whence he heard stifled exclamations and
laughter, and some one saying "Hush." But "Izzy" Schwab did

not care. The slave in brass buttons was proffering him
ivory-backed hair-brushes, and obsequiously removing the dust

from his coat collar. Mr. Schwab explained to him that he was
not dressed for automobiling, as Mr. Winthrop had invited him

quite informally. The man was most charmingly sympathetic.
And when he returned to the hall every one received him with

the most genial, friendly interest. Would he play golf, or
tennis, or pool, or walk over the farm, or just look on? It

seemed the wish of each to be his escort. Never had he been
so popular.

He said he would "just look on." And so, during the last and
decisive day of the "whirlwind" campaign, while in Eighth

Avenue voters were being challenged, beaten, and bribed,
bonfires were burning, and "extras" were appearing every half

hour, "Izzy" Schwab, the Tammany henchman, with a secret worth
twenty thousand votes, sat a prisoner, in a wicker chair, with

a drink and a cigar, guarded by four young men in flannels,
who played tennisviolently at five dollars a corner.

It was always a great day in the life of "Izzy" Schwab. After
a luncheon, which, as he later informed his friends, could not

have cost less than "two dollars a plate and drink all you
like," Sam Forbes took him on at pool. Mr. Schwab had learned

the game in the cellars of Eighth Avenue at two and a half
cents a cue, and now, even in Columbus Circle he was a star.

So, before the sun had set Mr. Forbes, who at pool rather
fancied himself, was seventy-five dollars poorer, and Mr.

Schwab just that much to the good. Then there followed a
strange ceremony called tea, or, if you preferred it, whiskey

and soda; and the tall footman bent before him with huge
silver salvers laden down with flickering silver lamps, and

bubbling soda bottles, and cigars, and cigarettes.
"You could have filled your pockets with twenty-five cent

Havanas, and nobody would have said nothing!" declared Mr.
Schwab, and his friends who never had enjoyed his chance to

study at such close quarters the truly rich, nodded enviously.
At six o'clock Mr. Schwab led Winthrop into the big library

and asked for his ticket of leave.
"They'll be counting the votes soon, he begged. "I can't do

no harm now, and I don't mean to. I didn't see nothing, and I
won't say nothing. But it's election night, and--and I just

GOT to be on Broadway."
"Right," said Winthrop, "I'll have a car take you in, and if

you will accept this small check----"
"No!" roared "Izzy" Schwab. Afterward he wondered how he came

to do it. "You've give me a good time, Mr. Winthrop. You've
treated me fine, all the gentlemen have treated me nice. I'm

not a blackmailer, Mr. Winthrop." Mr. Schwab's voice shook
slightly.

"Nonsense, Schwab, you didn't let me finish," said Winthrop,
"I'm likely to need a lawyer any time; this is a retaining

fee. Suppose I exceed the speed limit--I'm liable to do
that----"

"You bet you are!" exclaimed Mr. Schwab violently.
"Well, then, I'll send for YOU, and there isn't a police

magistrate, nor any of the traffic squad, you can't handle, is
there?"

Mr. Schwab flushed with pleasure.
"You can count on me," he vowed, "and your friends too, and

the ladies," he added gallantly. "If ever the ladies want to
get bail, tell 'em to telephone for `Izzy' Schwab. Of

course," he said reluctantly, "if it's a retaining fee----"
But when he read the face of the check he exclaimed in

protest. "But, Mr. Winthrop, this is more than the Journal
would have give me!"

They put him in a car belonging to one of the other men, and
all came out on the steps to wave him "good-by," and he drove

magnificently into his own district, where there were over a
dozen men who swore he tipped the French chauffeur a five

dollar bill "just like it was a cigarette."
All of election day since her arrival in Winthrop's car, Miss

Forbes had kept to herself. In the morning, when the other
young people were out of doors, she remained in her room, and

after luncheon when they gathered round the billiard table,
she sent for her cart and drove off alone. The others thought

she was concerned over the possible result of the election,
and did not want to disturb them by her anxiety. Winthrop,

thinking the presence of Schwab embarrassed her, recalling as
it did Peabody's unfortunate conduct of the morning, blamed

himself for bringing Schwab to the house. But he need not
have distressed himself. Miss Forbes was thinking neither of

Schwab nor Peabody, nor was she worried or embarrassed. On
the contrary, she was completely happy.

When that morning she had seen Peabody running up the steps of
the Elevated, all the doubts, the troubles, questions, and

misgivings that night and day for the last three months had
upset her, fell from her shoulders like the pilgrim's heavy

pack. For months she had been telling herself that the unrest
she felt when with Peabody was due to her not being able to

appreciate the importance of those big affairs in which he was
so interested; in which he was so admirable a figure. She

had, as she supposed, loved him, because he was earnest,
masterful, intent of purpose. His had seemed a fine

character. When she had compared him with the amusing boys of