“I don’t see—­” began Perkins.

“Neither do I,” interrupted Mrs. Perkins; “and I hardly hope to.  You’ve explained and explained, but how a plumber’s calling here to fix a laundry leak is to rebuke the administration at Washington is still far beyond me.”

“But the plumbers are said to hold the balance of power!” cried the candidate.  “There are a hundred of them here in Dumfries Corners, and each one controls at least five assistants, which makes six hundred voters in all.  If I call in one, he and his five workers will vote for me, but the other five hundred and ninety-four will vote for Haskins; and if they do, the administration might as well go out of business.  Can’t you see?  It’s the same with the dandelions.  These spring elections are perfect—­ah—­Gehenna for a candidate if it happens to be an early spring like this.”

Perkins’s voice had the suggestion of a wail in it as he spoke of the dandelions, and his wife’s alarm grew upon her.  She understood now about the plumber, but his interjection of the dandelions had brought a fearful doubt into her heart.  Surely he was losing his mind.

“Dandelions, Thaddeus?” she echoed, aghast.

“Yes, dandelions,” retorted the candidate, forcibly.  “They’ve queered me as much as anything.  The neighbors say I’m not a good neighbor because I don’t have them pulled.  Mike’s been so thoroughly alcoholic all through the fight, looking after my interests, that he can’t pull them; and if I hire two men to come and do the work, seven hundred other men will want to know why they didn’t get a chance.”

“But why not employ boys?” demanded Mrs. Perkins.

“And be set down as an advocate of cheap child labor?  Not I!” cried Perkins.

“Then the dandelion-pullers are another balance of power, are they?” asked Mrs. Perkins, beginning to grow somewhat easier in her mind as to her husband’s sanity.

“Precisely; you have a very remarkable gift of insight, Bess,” answered the candidate.

“And how many balances of power are there?” demanded the lady.

“The Lord only knows,” sighed Perkins.  “I’ve made about eighty of ’em solid already, but as soon as one balance is fixed a thousand others rise up like Banquo’s ghost, and will not down.  I haven’t a doubt that it was a balance of power that Norah just turned away from the front door.  They strike you everywhere.  Why, even Bobbie ruined me with one of them in the Eighth Ward the other day—­one solidified balance wiped out in a moment by my interesting son.”

“Bobbie?” cried Mrs. Perkins.  “A six-year-old boy?”

“Exactly—­Bobbie, the six-year-old boy.  I wish you’d keep the children in the house until this infernal business is over.  The Eighth Ward would have elected me; but Bobbie ruined that,” said Perkins, ruefully.

“But how?” cried Mrs. Perkins.  “Have our children been out making campaign speeches for the other side?”