A Woman for Mayor: A Novel of To-day

by Helen M. Winslow

"What'll you women give me?" asked one of these derelicts of Mrs. Bateman. "Burke's crowd has given me two dollars. If you'll make it three, I'll vote for your candidate."

"We are not buying votes, sir," replied the Judge's wife. "We have no respect for a man who will sell his vote. But we will give you, in return for yours, the satisfaction of feeling that you are a man among men; that you are doing the right and honorable thing, and that you are helping to establish an honest government here in Roma. Isn't your manhood worth more than two or even three dollars to you?"

"Well," returned the man after a speechless moment, "I'll be dinged if it isn't! I am going to vote for you, anyhow." Which he proceeded to do, although in somewhat maudlin fashion.

At ward three, Miss Van Deusen came face to face with John Allingham. It was an awkward moment for both. Gertrude flushed, but she carried her head high, and said "Good morning," with so much cordiality that Allingham felt more awkward than ever.

All night he had slept but fitfully, and in his wakeful hours had regretted with self-denunciation, that his name was to be voted upon that day. In his waking dreams he had thought once of withdrawing his candidacy, even at the polls. When he slept, he was riding once more, through the beautiful night—not alone, locked into the cab—but with Gertrude Van Deusen beside him, talking in her sweet musical voice, of things far removed from Roma and its dirty politics. The mobile face, the starry eyes, the delicate perfume that enwrapped her, lingered with him, and when he waked, it was difficult to cast the memory aside and to gather his wits for the fight which he must make against her that day, for an office he did not want;—but on the other hand, more than ever did he want her not to have it. That beautiful and gracious young woman he told himself, endowed with rare graces of mind and soul,—she must not be allowed to soil herself with the political machinery at City Hall. She had been misguided, led into this candidacy by those other women, strong-minded suffragists. Was it not his duty to get out and work for her defeat?

And so he arose and dressed, and although hotly opposed by his women-folk, who thought he should stay in bed and be carefully nursed for a week, he went forth, his face adorned with surgeon's plaster and his heart full of mixed motives, to the fray.

"You are none the worse for your ride?" he said to her. "You are sure you were not hurt?"

"No, not a bit," laughed Gertrude. "There isn't even the odor of liniment about me. But you,—your hurts must pain you? You were badly used up last night. Ought you to be out?" And then she blushed, remembering he was out to defeat her.

"Oh, I am well again," he returned, "only these bits of plaster make me out worse than I am. As soon as this election is over I'm going to find out who was at the bottom of that devilish plot."

"You'll never find out," said Bailey Armstrong, coming up at that moment. "It was some of Burke's dirty work, but they've covered their tracks mighty well. I've been making inquiries this morning. There isn't an electric cab in this city."