“Oh, I’m ashamed to tell you,” he said. “I’ll have to paste over that before it’s electrotyped. You see, I had a notion of putting in the gang, and I drew four little figures—Benson, Burns, Salton and Glenn; they were plotting—oh, it was foolish and unworthy. I decided I didn’t want anything of hatred in it—just as he wouldn’t want anything of hatred in it; so I rubbed them out.”
“Well, I’m glad. It is beautiful; it makes up for everything; it’s an appreciation—worthy of the man.”
When Kittrell entered the office of the Post, the boys greeted him with delight, and his presence made a sensation, for there had been rumors of the break which the absence of a “Kit” cartoon in the Telegraph that morning had confirmed. But, if Hardy was surprised, his surprise was swallowed up in his joy, and Kittrell was grateful to him for the delicacy with which he touched the subject that consumed the newspaper and political world with curiosity.
“I’m glad, Kit,” was all that he said. “You know that.”
Then he forgot everything in the cartoon, and he showed his instant recognition of its significance by snatching out his watch, pushing a button, and saying to Garland, who came to the door in his shirt-sleeves:
“Tell Nic to hold the first edition for a five-column first-page cartoon. And send this up right away.”
They had a last look at it before it went, and after gazing a moment in silence Hardy said:
“It’s the greatest thing you ever did, Kit, and it 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. “No, he wasn’t; the way they’ve been hammering him is something fierce; and the Telegraph—well, your cartoons and all, you know.”