“Yes,” said I, “and have got a stake in the country, you know, and know how to behave emselves in the House, don’t you know?”
“What we have to do,” pursued Miss Milton, “is to guide the voters. These poor rustics need to be informed—”
“Just so,” I broke in. “They have to be told—”
“Of the real nature of the questions—”
“And which candidate to support.”
“Or they must infallibly”—she exclaimed.
“Get their marching orders,” I cried, in rapture. It was exactly what I always did on my small property.
“Oh, I didn’t quite mean that,” she said reproachfully.
“Oh, well, neither did I—quite,” I responded adroitly. What was wrong with the girl now?
“But with the help of the League—” she went on.