“Who is opposing you?” once asked a gray-haired Senator of much political experience, who had met Mr. Hopkins at luncheon.

“Young feller named Forbes—­a boy, sir—­with no notion about the game at all.  He was pledged to an unpopular issue, so I was mighty glad to have him run against me.”

“What issue is he pledged to?” asked the Senator.

“Oh, he’s agin putting advertising signs on fences and barns, and wants to have them prohibited, like the infernal fool he is.”

“Indeed.  Then he’s a progressive fellow.  And you say his issue is unpopular?”

“That’s what it is.  It’ll kill his chances—­if he ever had any.”

“Strange,” mused the Senator.  “That issue has been a winning one usually.”

“What do you mean?” asked the astonished Hopkins.

“Why, the anti-sign fight has won in several places throughout the country, and local laws have been passed prohibiting them.  Didn’t you know that?”

“No!” said Hopkins.

“Well, it’s true.  Of course I do not know the temper of your people, but in a country district such as yours I would think an issue of that sort very hard to combat.”

“Nonsense!” exclaimed the Honorable Erastus.  “Ev’ry man Jack’s agin the fool notion.”

“Then perhaps the people don’t understand it.”

“Forbes has given up already,” continued Hopkins, laughing at the recollection.  “He’s gone back into his shell like a turtle, an’ won’t come out to fight.  I tell you, Senator, he’s the worst licked candidate that ever ran for office.”

Nevertheless, the suggestion that the anti-sign issue had been successful in other localities made Mr. Hopkins a trifle uneasy, and he decided to return home and keep the fight going until after election, whether young Forbes came out of his shell or not.

He arrived at Hilldale on the early morning train and went to his house for breakfast.  To his amazement he found two great banners strung across the village streets bearing the words:  “Vote for Forbes—­the People’s Champion!”

“Who in thunder could ‘a’ done that?” murmured Mr. Hopkins, staring open-mouthed at the great banners.  Then he scratched his head with a puzzled air and went home.

Mrs. Hopkins, a tired-looking woman in a bedraggled morning wrapper, was getting the breakfast.  She did not participate largely in the prosperity of her husband, and often declared she was “worked to death,” although there were no children to care for.

“When did those Forbes banners go up?” asked Mr. Hopkins, irritably.

“I dunno, ‘Rast.  I don’t keep track o’ such things.  But all the town was out to the girls’ meetin’ last night, an’ I went along to watch the fun.”

“What girls’ meeting?”

“The girls thet air workin’ fer to elect Mr. Forbes.  It was in the town hall, an’ all three of the girls made speeches.”

“What about?”