“Yes,” said the girl. “I’m the only child. And you—are you going to be elected?”
“Judge Powers’s plurality was more than his opponent’s whole vote last time,” said Helm.
“Then you haven’t much hope?”
“I don’t hope—I work,” said Helm.
As they talked on, he saying nothing beyond what was necessary to answer the questions put to him, it was curious to see how he, the homely and the shabby, became the center of interest. His personality compelled them to think and to talk about him, to revolve round him—this, though he was shrinking in his shyness and could scarcely find words or utterance for them.
“What a queer man,” said Clara, when the auto was under way again. “He’s very dowdy and ugly, but somehow you sort of like him.”
“He’s not so ugly,” said Miss Clearwater.
“Perhaps not—for a man of his class,” said Clara. “I like to meet the lower-class people once in awhile. They’re very interesting.”
“I guess,” said Miss Clearwater, absently, “that father was a good deal that sort of a man when he was young.”
Clara laughed. “Oh, nonsense,” she cried. “Your father amounted to something.”