Into this struggle, as giving him the chance to front the enemy in a fair field, David Kent flung himself with all the ardor of a born fighter.  Mass meetings were held, with Kent as spokesman for the League, and the outcome was a decency triumph which brought Kent’s name into grateful public prominence.  Hildreth played an able second, and by the time the obnoxious ordinance had been safely tabled, Kent had a semi-political following which was all his own.  Men who had hitherto known him only as a corporation lawyer began to prophesy large things of the fiery young advocate, whose arguments were as sound and convincing as his invective was keen and merciless.

Figuratively speaking, Portia stood in the wings and applauded.  Also, she saw that her protege had reached the point where he needed grooming for whatever race lay before him.  Hence her urgings, which made a triumvirate out of the council of two, with Brookes Ormsby as the third member.

“You understand, I’m not interested a little bit in the merits of the case,” said the newly elected chairman, in his first official interview with Miss Van Brock.  “So far as the internal politics of this particularly wild and woolly State are concerned, I’m neither in them nor of them.  But I am willing to do what I can for Kent.”

“Owing him a good turn?” said Portia, with malice aforethought.

Ormsby’s laugh was an Englishman’s deep-chested haw-haw.

“So he has been making you his confidante in that, too, has he?”

“There was no confidence needed,” she retorted.  “I have eyes; and, to use one of your own pet phrases, I was not born yesterday.  But let that go:  you are willing to help us?”

“I said I was willing to help Kent.  If you bracket yourself with him, I am more than willing.  But I am rather new to the game.  You will have to tell me the moves.”

“We are only in the opening,” she said, continuing the figure.  “You will learn as you go along.  By and by you will have to spend money; but just now the need is for a cool head to keep our young firebrand out of the personalities.  Where is he to-night?”

Ormsby’s smile was a grin.

“I left him at 124 Tejon Avenue half an hour ago.  Do you think he is likely to get into trouble there?”

On the porch of the Brentwood apartment house David Kent was answering that question measurably well for himself.  With the striking of the City Hall clock at nine Mrs. Brentwood had complained of the glare of the electric crossing-lamp and had gone in, leaving the caller with Penelope in the hammock on one side of him and Elinor in a basket chair on the other.

Their talk had been of the late municipal struggle, and of Kent’s part in it; and, like Miss Van Brock, Penelope was applausive.  But Elinor’s congratulations were tempered with deprecation.

“I am glad you won for the League, of course; everybody must be glad of that,” she said.  “But I hope the Argus didn’t report your speeches correctly.  If it did, you have made a host of bitter enemies.”