The Ely miner., 1913-07-25

silence 6aruy sdlQ.
"It's the greatest thing you ever did,
Kit, and 1t comes at the psychological
moment It'll elect him."
"Oh, he was elected, anyhow"
Hardy shook his head, and in the
movement Kittrell saw how the strain
of the campaign had told on him. mo,
he wasn't; the way they've been ham,
mering him is something fierce; and
the Telegraph-well, your cartoons
and all, you know"
But my cartoons in the Telegraph
were rotten. Any work that Is not
sincere. not Intellectually honest"
Hardy interrupted him:
Yes; but, Kit, you're SO good that
your rotten Is better than most any
body's best" He smiled, and Kittrell
blushed and looked away.
Hardy was right. The Kit" car
toon, back in the Post, created its SEN
sation, and after 1t appeared the po-
litical reporters said it had started a
landslide to Clayton; that the betting
was 3 to 1 and no takers, and that 1t
was all over but the shouting.
That night, as they were at dinner,
the telephone rang, and in a minute
Neil knew by Edith's excited and de-
lighted reiteration of 'yes," yes"
who had called up. And then he
heard her say:
Indeed l will; I'll come every night
and sit in the front seat"
Whon K{tfrolI dicn1oood E,1ith
the telephone, he heard the voice OF
John Clayton, lower in register and
somewhat husky after four weeks
speaking, but more musical than ever
in Kittrell's ears when it said:
Il just told the little woman, Neil,
that didn't know how to say it, so
wanted her to thank you for me. 1t
was beautiful in you, and l wish 1
were worthy of it; it was simply your
own good soul expressing itself"
And it was the last delight to Kit
trell to hear that voice and to know
that all was well. !.
But one question remained unset
tied. Kittrell had been on the Tele-
graph month, and his contract diff
fered from that ordinarily made by the
members of newspaper staff in that
he was paid by the year, though in
monthly installments. Kittrell knew
that he had broken his contract on
grounds which the sordid law would
not see or recognize and the average
court think absurd, and that the Tele-
graph might legally refuse to pay him
at all. He hoped the Telegraph
would do this! But it did not; on the
contrary, he received the next day a
check for his months work. He held
it up for Edith's inspection.
"Of course, I'll have to send it
back" he said.
Certainly"
do you think me quixotic?"
We'll, we're poor enough as 1t is
let's have some luXuries; let's be quix-
otic until after election, at least"
Sure said Neil; lust what l was
thinking. I'm going to do a cartoon
every day for the Post until election
day, and I'm not going to take cent.
don't want to crowd Banks out, you
know, and l want to do my part for
Clayton and the cause, and do it, just
once. for the pure love of the thing"
Those last days Of the campaign
were indeed, luXuries to Kittrell and
to Edith, days of work and fun and ex-
citement. All day Kittrell worked on
his cartoons, and on the evening they
went to Clayton's meetings. The ex.
perience was revelation to them
both-the crowds, the waiting for the
singing of the automobiles siren, the
wild cheers that greeted Clayton, and
then his speech, his appeals to the best
there was in men. He had never made
such speeches, and long afterward
Edith could hear those cheers and see
the faces Of those workingmen aglow
with the hope, the passion, the ferv-
ent religion Of democracy. And those
days came to their glad climax that
night when they met at the office OF
the Post to receive the returns, in an
atmosphere quivering with excite
ment, with messenger boys and repor-
ters coming and going, and in the
street outside an immense crowd,
swaying and rocking between the
walls on either side, with screams and
shouts and mad huzzas, and the wild
blowing of horns-all the hideous,
happy noise an American election
night crowd can make.
Late in the evening Clayton had
made his way, somehow unnoticed,
through the crowd, and entered the Of
flee. He was happy in the great tri-
umph he would not accept as personal,
claiming it always for the cause; but
as he dropped into the chair Hardy
pushed toward him, they all saw how
weary he was.
Just at that moment the roar IN the
street below swelled to mighty cres-
cendo, and Hardy cried:
"Look!"
upstairs who were manipulating the
stereopticon had thrown on the screen
an enormous picture OF Clayton, the
portrait Kittrell had drawn for his
cartoon.
'Will you say now there isn't the
personal note in it?" Edith asked.
Clayton glanced out the window,
across the dark, surging street, at the
picture.
"Oh, it's not me they're cheering
for" he said; ''it's for Kit, here"
We'll, perhaps some of it's for
him." Edith admitted, Loyalty.
They were silent, seized irresistibly
by the emotion that mastered the
mighty crowd in the dark streets be-