“Sometimes, Major, you are completely horrid,” answered Phoebe with both a smile and a spark in her eyes, “but I do care—­that is, I’m interested, and—­”

“It seems to me,” the major filled in the pause, “that you are a trifle short on a woman’s long suit—­patience.  Now in the case of David Kildare, you don’t want to give him one moment of tortoise speed but must keep him pacing with the hare entirely.  Remember the result of that race?”

“But I want him to win—­he must!  I think—­”

“Did you hear that speech he made to the motley and their friends last Monday night?  That was as fine an interpretation of the ethics involved in the enforcement of law as I have ever heard or read—­delivered to simple minds unversed in the science ethical.  He landed hot shot into the very stronghold of the enemy and his audience saw his points.  I find the mind of David Kildare rather well provisioned with the diverse ammunition needed in political warfare.  The whisky ring is making a stand and fighting the inches of retreat.  I believe it to be retreat!”

“But can it be, Major?  Andrew says that money is pouring into the city, even from other states.  They intend to buy the election, come what will.  How can a gentleman fight such a thing with ‘not a dollar spent’ announcement?”

“Phoebe,” said the major with the quick illumination of one of his challenging smiles, “you can generally depend on the Almighty to back the right man when he’s fighting the right fight.  Suppose you put up a little faith on the event—­be something of a sporting character and back David to win.  Backing thoughts help in the winnings they tell us these days.”

“I have, Major—­I am—­I do, but this hunt to-night positively—­positively frightens me.  It seemed so—­so regardless of consequences—­so trivial and—­and inconsequent that—­” Phoebe paused and the major was astonished to see that she was veiling tears with her thick black lashes.

“Phoebe, child,” he said as he bent over quickly and laid his hand on hers, “I ought to have answered you sooner.  He is prepared to make the speech of his life tonight at seven-thirty, but at ten he joins his friends to hunt.  Didn’t you draw your conclusions hurriedly—­and against David?”

In a second the tightness in Phoebe’s throat relaxed and the tears flowed back to their source, only one little splash jeweled her cheek that had flamed into a blush of joy and contrition.

“Ah,” she said softly as she drew a deep breath, “I am so glad—­glad!...  I must hurry, for I’m an hour late already.  Good-by!”

“Good-by, and remember that faith is one of the by-products of affection.  And I might add that the right kind of faith finds tactful ways of—­of admission.  Do you see?” And the major held her hand long enough to make Phoebe look into his kind eyes.