companionship.

"He's always in the dark. Would be if he knew all about it," Acres grumbled.

At this moment the huge amorphous figure of a man emerged sidewise from the staircase of the National Bank Building. He looked back up the stairs, shot a glance up and down the street, then he moved like a blur around the corner into the darkening shadows. This was a habit he had which the innocent people of the town had not sufficient experience to interpret. He never started forth without looking both ways. He never walked any distance without looking back over his shoulder.

"That's Mike now!" exclaimed Acres. "Not a dollar in his pocket, and he owns this town."

"Yes, he has got dollars in his pocket, plenty of 'em. He's been collecting for the campaign fund this afternoon—quarterage you know!" sneered Coleman, who had just paid his.

"Aims to be the next mayor, doesn't he?"

"No, worse than that: he's going to be representative from this county in the next legislature!"

"Bob Sasnett will have something to say about that. He told me to-day he might run. That means he will."

"Well, he hasn't got anything else to do. He's the only man in town who is independent of Mike. He can furnish his own campaign fund. Good night!" said Coleman, determined to be gone this time.

"Wonder what's the matter with Coleman," muttered Acres, hurrying to meet Carter, the editor of the Signal, only to see him vanish into the drugstore. "Wonder what's the matter with everybody. Hello, Colonel Adams, that you?"

"Yesh, it's me, Mabel; whatcher want," answered the Colonel, bracing himself against the courthouse. He always called Acres "Mabel," after his wife.

"Well, how do you feel—pretty good?" said the little gossip, grinning up in the old red face.

"No, shur! I do not. I feel like a child on a cold night wish all the bedclothes pulled off me—thatsh how I feel. How do you feel?"

"Same here, Colonel!"