he could not be so confident.  The college had opened this year with an increased enrollment of twenty-five; and though West privately felt certain that his successor was only reaping where he himself had sown, you could not be certain that the low world would so see it.  As for the Post, it was a mere stop-gap, a momentary halting-place where he preened for a far higher flight.  There were many times that winter when West wondered if Plonny Neal, whom he rarely or never saw, could possibly have failed to notice how prominently he was in line.

But these doubts and dissatisfactions left little mark upon the handsome face and buoyant manner.  Changes in West, if there were any, were of the slightest.  Certainly his best friends, like those two charming young women, Miss Weyland and Miss Avery, found him as delightful as ever.

In these days, West’s mother desired him to marry.  After the cunning habit of women, she put the thought before him daily, under many an alluring guise, by a thousand engaging approaches.  West himself warmed to the idea.  He had drunk freely of the pleasures of single blessedness, under the most favorable conditions; was now becoming somewhat jaded with them; and looked with approval upon the prospect of a little nest, or indeed one not so little, duly equipped with the usual faithful helpmeet who should share his sorrows, joys, etc.  The nest he could feather decently enough himself; the sole problem, a critical one in its way, was to decide upon the helpmeet.  West was neither college boy nor sailor.  His heart was no harem of beautiful faces.  Long since, he had faced the knowledge that there were but two girls in the world for him.  Since, however, the church and the law allowed him but one, he must more drastically monogamize his heart and this he found enormously difficult.  It was the poet’s triangle with the two dear charmers over again.

One blowy night in late February, West passed by the brown stone palace which Miss Avery’s open-handed papa, from Mauch Chunk, occupied on a three years’ lease with privilege of buying; and repaired to the more modest establishment where dwelt Miss Weyland and her mother.  The reformatory issue was then at the touch.  The bill had come out of committee with a six-and-six vote; rumor had it that it would be called up in the House within the week; and it now appeared as though a push of a feather’s weight might settle its fate either way.  Sharlee and West spoke first of this.  She was eagerly interested, and praised him warmly for the interest and valuable help of the Post.  Her confidence was unshaken that the bill would go through, though by a narrow margin.

“The opposition is of the deadliest sort,” she admitted, “because it is silent.  It is silent because it knows that its only argument—­all this economy talk—­is utterly insincere.  But Mr. Dayne knows where the opposition is—­and the way he goes after it!  Never believe any more that ministers can’t lobby!”