"Oh, father," began Madeline.
"But, David," his wife remonstrated, interrupting, "remember you're going to make a speech—and when would you wear it, if not to-night? I'm sure Mr. Craig'll have on the best coat he's got—and that tweed's getting so shabby."
"I won't go back on it when it's gettin' old an' seedy," David retorted vigorously; "I know what that feels like myself. It stuck to me when I seen better days, an' I'm not goin' to desert it now—I ain't that kind of a man. An' if Craig wants to dress up like an undertaker, that's his funeral. Besides, a fellow's ideas comes easier in an old coat—an orator's got to consider all them things, you know. Confound this dickie, it won't stay down—I believe Madeline put 'east in it," as he smote his swelling bosom, bidding it subside.
"I'm sorry you're not going to stand, David; I believe you'd be elected if you'd only run. I always hoped you'd be the first mayor of Glenallen—let me just brush that coat before you go," and Mrs. Borland fell upon it with right good-will.
"Words is funny things," mused David, as he suffered himself to be turned this way and that for the operation; "'specially with orators an' politicians. If a fellow stands, that means he's runnin'—don't scrape my neck like that, mother," ducking evasively as he spoke. "It's somethin' like what I heard a fellow say at the Horse Show; he says, 'the judges look a horse all over—them fellows don't overlook nothin',' says he. No, I ain't goin' to stand, mother; nor I won't run, neither. I'll jest sit down. You see, a fellow that lives in a cottage this size, there ain't nothin' else for him to do—not unless he's a fool. Don't brush my hat like that, mother; you're skinnin' it—what did it ever do to you? Well, good-bye, mother; I'm a candidate now—but I'll only jest be a man when I get back. I won't even be an orator, I reckon. Good-bye, Madeline—wrap that there black coat up in them camp-fire balls," he directed, nodding towards the rejected black.
"I'm going with you as far as the gate, father; you've got to have some kind of a send-off."
"That's all right, daughter; welcome the comin', part the speedin' guest, as the old proverb says."
"Speed the parting guest, you mean, David," Mrs. Borland amended seriously.
"Same thing, an hour after he's gone," David responded cheerily; "feed him'd be better'n either of 'em, to my way o' thinkin'," as he started forth on his momentous mission.
Mrs. Borland was not far astray in her prediction. For when at length the two candidates—and there were but two—ascended the platform in the crowded hall, David's rival was resplendent in a new suit of which the far-descending coat was the most conspicuous feature. Mr. Craig had fitting notions as to what became the prospective mayor of a town which had never enjoyed such an ornament before.