to; but we’ve got to scandalize ourselves for Bill Humble’s sake. In a straight and legitimate business,’ says I, ‘we could afford to introduce a little foul play and chicanery, but in a disorderly and heinous piece of malpractice like this it seems to me that the straightforward and aboveboard way is the best. I propose,’ says I, ‘that we hand over $500 of this money to the chairman of the national campaign committee, get a receipt, lay the receipt on the President’s desk and tell him about Bill. The President is a man who would appreciate a candidate who went about getting office that way instead of pulling wires.’

“Andy agreed with me, but after we talked the scheme over with the hotel clerk we give that plan up. He told us that there was only one way to get an appointment in Washington, and that was through a lady lobbyist. He gave us the address of one he recommended, a Mrs. Avery, who, he said, was high up in sociable and diplomatic rings and circles.

“The next morning at ten o’clock me and Andy called at her hotel, and was shown up to her reception room.

“This Mrs. Avery was a solace and a balm to the eyesight. She had hair the colour of the back of a twenty-dollar gold certificate, blue eyes and a system of beauty that would make the girl on the cover of a July magazine look like a cook on a Monongahela coal barge.

“She had on a low-necked dress covered with silver spangles, and diamond rings and ear-bobs. Her arms was bare; and she was using a desk telephone with one hand, and drinking tea with the other.

“‘Well, boys,’ says she after a bit, ‘what is it?’

“I told her in as few words as possible what we wanted for Bill, and the price we could pay.

“‘Those western appointments,’ says she, ‘are easy. Le’me see, now,’ says she, ‘who could put that through for us? No use fooling with Territorial delegates. I guess,’ says she,‘that Senator Sniper would be about the man. He’s from some-where in the West. Let’s see how he stands on my private menu card.’ She takes some papers out of a pigeon-hole with the letter ‘S’ over it.

“‘Yes,’ says she, ‘he’s marked with a star; that means “ready to serve.” Now, let’s see. “Age 55; married twice; Presbyterian, likes blondes, Tolstoi, poker and stewed terrapin; sentimental at third bottle of wine.” Yes,’ she goes on, ‘I am sure I can have your friend, Mr. Bummer, appointed Minister to Brazil.’

“‘Humble,’ says I. ‘And United States Marshal was the berth.’

“‘Oh, yes,’ says Mrs. Avery. ‘I have so many deals of this sort I sometimes get them confused. Give me all the memoranda you have of the case, Mr. Peters, and come back in four days. I think it can be arranged by then.’

“So me and Andy goes back to our hotel and waits. Andy walks up and down and chews the left end of his moustache.

“‘A woman of high intellect and perfect beauty is a rare thing, Jeff,’ says he.

“‘As rare,’ says I, ‘as an omelet made from the eggs of the fabulous bird known as the epidermis,’ says I.

“‘A woman like that,’ says Andy, ‘ought to lead a man to the highest positions of opulence and fame.’

“‘I misdoubt,’ says I, ‘if any woman ever helped a man to secure a job any more than to have his meals ready promptly and spread a report that the other candidate’s wife had once been a shoplifter. They are no more adapted for business and politics,’ says I, ‘than Algernon Charles Swinburne is to be floor manager at one of Chuck Connor’s annual balls. I know,’ says I to Andy, ‘that sometimes a woman seems to step out into the kalsomine light as the chargé d’affaires of her man’s political job. But how does it come out? Say, they have a neat little berth somewhere as foreign consul of record to Afghanistan or