VERNON was glad enough of a breath of the evening air, and they went down the steps to the sidewalk. Along the curbstone many men had placed chairs and in these cool and quiet eddies of the brawling stream of politics they joked and laughed peacefully. Sixth Street stretched away dark and inviting. Vernon and Cowley turned southward and strolled along companionably. The air was delicious after the blaze of the hotel; the black shade of a moonless night was restful; their cigars were fragrant.

“I’ve just got hold of a story,” began Cowley, after they had enjoyed the night for a moment in silence. “I’ve just got hold of a story—” he spoke, of course, as always, from the detached standpoint of a newspaper man, “which you ought to know.”

“What is it?” asked Vernon.

“Porter and Braidwood are against your resolution.” Cowley spoke these names in a tone that told how futile any opposition would be. “And Wright and his fellows are against it, too,” he added.

“Nonsense,” said Vernon.

“Well, you’ll see,” replied Cowley.

“But they told me—”

“Oh, well, that’s all right. They’ve changed in the last day or two.”

“Why?”

“Well, they say it’s risky from a party standpoint. They think they already have all the load they want to carry in the fall campaign. Besides, they—”

“What?”

“They say there’s no demand for such a radical step, and so see no reason for taking it.”

“No demand for it?”

“No, on the contrary,” Cowley halted an instant and in his palm sheltered a lighted match for his extinguished cigar. “On the contrary, there’s a lot of people against it.”

“Since when?”

“They’ve been getting letters in the last few days—they’ve just been pouring in on ’em—and they’re from women, too.”

“From women!”

“Yes, from women; the first ladies in the land.” Cowley spoke with a sneer.

Vernon laughed.

“All right,” said Cowley in the careless ............