“Never mind the lamps,” returned Thaddeus.  “Let’s talk of ballot-boxes to-day.  To-morrow we can place the lamps.”

“Very well, if you say so,” said the old lady; “only I marvel at you latter-day boys.  In my young days a small matter like that would have been settled long ago.”

“Well, I’ll compromise with you,” said Thaddeus.  “We won’t wait until to-morrow.  I’ll decide the question to-night—­I’m really too busy now to think of them.”

“I shall be glad when we don’t have to think about ’em at all,” sighed Mrs. Perkins, pouring out the candidate’s coffee.  “They’ve really been a care to me.  I don’t like the idea of putting them on the porch, or on the gate-posts either.  They’ll have to be kept clean, and goodness knows I can’t ask the girls to go out in the middle of winter to clean them if they are on the gate-posts.”

“Mike will clean them,” said Thaddeus.

Mrs. Perkins sniffed when Mike’s name was mentioned.  “I doubt it,” she said.  “He’s been lots of good for two weeks.”

“Mike has been lots of good for two weeks,” echoed Thaddeus, enthusiastically.  “He’s kept all the hired men in line, my dear.”

“I’ve no doubt he’s been of use politically, but from a domestic point of view he’s been awful.  He’s been drunk for the last week.”

“Well, my love,” said the candidate, despairingly, “some member of the family had to be drunk for the last week, and I’d rather it was Mike than you or any of the children.  Mike’s geniality has shed a radiance about me among the hired men of this town that fills me with pride.”

“I don’t see, to go back to what I said in the very beginning, why we can’t have the lamps in-doors,” returned Mrs. Perkins.

“I told you why not, my dear,” said Perkins.  “They are the perquisite of the Mayor, but for the benefit of the public, because the public pays for them.”

“And hasn’t the public, as you call it, taken possession of the inside of your house?” demanded the mother-in-law.  “I found seven gentlemen sitting in the white and gold parlor only last night, and they hadn’t wiped their feet either.”

“You don’t understand,” faltered the standard-bearer.  “That business isn’t permanent.  To-morrow I’ll tell them to go round to the back door and ask the cook.”

“Humph!” said the mother-in-law.  “I’m surprised at you.  For a few paltry votes you—­” Just here the front door bell rang, and the business of the day beginning stopped the conversation, which bade fair to become unpleasant.

* * * * *

Night came.  The votes were being counted, and at six o’clock Perkins was informed that everything was going his way.

“Get your place ready for a brass band and a serenade,” his manager telephoned.

“I sha’n’t!” ejaculated the candidate to himself, his old-time independence asserting itself now that the polls were closed—­and he was right.  He didn’t have to.  The band did not play in his front yard, for at eight o’clock the tide that had set in strong for Perkins turned.  At ten, according to votes that had been counted, things were about even, and the ladies retired.  At twelve Perkins turned out the gas.