"You must—at any rate, till the Tuesday after the first Monday in
November. Did the pious gossip tell you any pleasant personal news?"
"She has heard talk that the Micks are sore and that Doc Crandall has had an attack of virtue."
"You needn't lose sleep over the handful of Irish in our camp; they know who butters their parsnips. And I'll take care of the doctor. He's an innocuous mugwump. She didn't mention Volney Sprague?"
"Sprague," said Shelby, wearily; "what is that man up to now?"
Bowers rose, paced the room, and returned, big with news.
"The Whig has bolted," he announced.
CHAPTER IV
Shelby's amaze spent its force in an oath. In a moment he asked, calmly:—
"What does he say?"
"Not much; mainly that the manner of your nomination debars his printing your name at the head of his editorial page."