“You’ve made a bungle of the whole campaign,” said Squiers, bitterly.

“That’s a lie.  I’ve done a lot of clever work.  But these infernal city girls came down here and stirred up all the trouble.”

“You made a mistake pushing that sign issue.  The girls beat you on that.”

“If it hadn’t been signs it might have been something worse.  But I ain’t beaten yet, Doc.  Squiers.  This deal is going to win.  It’s a trick the boarding-school misses won’t understand until after they’ve cut their eye-teeth in politics.”

“There’s a pretty heavy penalty against false registration,” observed the dentist, gloomily.

“There’s no penalty unless we’re found out, and there ain’t the ghost of a chance of that.  The books are in your hands; I got all the clerks fixed.  Not a question will even be raised.  I know it.  Do you suppose I’d risk state’s prison myself, if I wasn’t sure?”

“Look here, ’Rast,” said Squiers, doggedly, “you’re making a tool of me in this campaign.  Why should I be used and abused just to elect Erastus Hopkins, I’d like to know.  You sacrificed me when I might have been Sheriff.”

“You’re well paid for that, Doc.”

“And now you want me to put my neck in a noose for your advantage.  I won’t do it, ’Rast, and that’s a fact.”

Mr. Hopkins coughed.

“How much, Doc?” he inquired.

The dentist was silent.

“State the figure.  But for mercy’s sake don’t bleed me any more than you can help.  This fight has cost me a pretty penny already.”

“I don’t want your money,” growled Squiers.

“Yes you do, Doc.  I know you better than you know yourself.  The trouble with you is, you’ll want too much.”

Squiers laughed bitterly.

“Is Marshall to be trusted?” he asked.

“Of course.  If he said a word he’d lose his job as manager.  Marshall’s all right.  There’s nothing to worry about, Doc.”

Patsy’s tooth wasn’t aching a bit.  But her heart was throbbing as madly as the tooth ever did, and fortunately there was no pain connected with the throbbing—­only joy.

“It ought to be worth two thousand dollars, ’Rast,” said the dentist.

“What!  In addition to all other expenses?”

“Why, man; it means the election.  It means your whole future.  If you’re defeated now, you’re a back number in this district, and you know it.”

“It’s too much, Doc.  On my word it is.”

“It’s too little, come to think of it.  I’ll make it three thousand.”

“Doc!”

“If you don’t close with me, ’Rast, by the jumping Jupiter, I’ll make it four thousand,” cried the dentist, with exasperation.

“Say twenty-five hundred, Doc.”

“Right on the nail.  Give me your check here—­this minute.”

“And you’ll enter the names in the books?”

“Before you leave the office.  Have you got the list?”