“And now,” said Uncle John, “get busy and hustle for Kenneth Forbes.”

“I will, sir,” said Briggs, with unexpected energy.  “I mean to win that extra five hundred!”

CHAPTER VII

PATSY MAKES PROGRESS

Meantime Patsy was in the thick of the fray.  The druggist was a deep-dyed Democrat, and sniffed when she asked him what he thought of Forbes for Representative.

“He’s no politician at all—­just an aristocrat,” declared Latham, a dapper little man with his hair slicked down to his ears and a waxed moustache.  “And he’s got fool notions, too.  If he stopped the advertising signs I wouldn’t sell half as many pain-killers and liver-pills.”

“He’s my cousin,” said Patsy, mendaciously; for although they called themselves cousins there was no relationship even of marriage, as Patsy’s Aunt Jane had merely been betrothed to Kenneth’s uncle when he died.

“I’m sorry for that, miss,” replied the druggist.  “He’s going to be badly beaten.”

“I think I’ll take two ounces of this perfumery.  It is really delightful.  Some druggists have so little taste in selecting such things.”

“Yes, miss, I do rather pride myself on my perfumes,” replied Latham, graciously.  “Now here’s a sachet powder that gives fine satisfaction.”

“I’ll take a couple of packets of that, too, since you recommend it.”

Latham began doing up the purchases.  There was no other customer in the store.

“You know, miss, I haven’t anything against Mr. Forbes myself.  His people are good customers.  It’s his ideas I object to, and he’s a Republican.”

“Haven’t you ever voted for a Republican?” asked the girl.  “Don’t you think it better to vote for the best man, rather than the best party, in a case like this?”

“Why, perhaps it is.  But in what way is Mr. Forbes the best man?”

“He’s honest.  He doesn’t want to make any money out of the office.  On the contrary, he’s willing and able to spend a good deal in passing laws that will benefit his district.”

“And Hopkins?”

“Don’t you know Mr. Hopkins?” she asked, pointedly.

“Yes, miss; I do.”  And Latham frowned a little.

“As regards the advertising signs,” continued the girl, “I’ve heard you spoken of as a man of excellent taste, and I can believe it since I’ve examined the class of goods you keep.  And your store is as neat and attractive as can be.  The fight is not against the signs themselves, but against putting them on fences and barns, and so making great glaring spots in a landscape where all should be beautiful and harmonious.  I suppose a man of your refinement and good taste has often thought of that, and said the same thing.”

“Why—­ahem!—­yes; of course, miss.  I agree with you that the signs are often out of place, and—­and inharmonious.”

“To be sure; and so you must sympathize with Mr. Forbes’s campaign.”