“Well, Sally, how about Mort Bassett?” asked the admiral.  “I hope you don’t mind my speaking of him.”

“Not in the slightest,” Mrs. Owen replied.  “The fact that Morton Bassett married my niece doesn’t make it necessary for me to approve of all he does—­and I don’t.  When I get a chance I give him the best licks I can.  He’s a Democrat, but I’m not; neither am I a Republican.  They’re all just as crooked as a dog’s hind leg.  I gave up when they beat Tilden out of the presidency.  Why, if I’d been Samuel Tilden I’d have moved into the White House and dared ’em to throw me out.  The Democratic Party never did have any gumption!” she concluded vigorously.

“A sound idea, Sally,” grumbled the admiral, “but it’s not new.”

“Bassett isn’t a bad fellow,” remarked Ware.  “You can hardly call him a boss in the usual sense of the term.”

“Personally, he’s certainly very agreeable,” said Mrs. Martin.  “You remember, Mrs. Owen, I visited your niece the last time I was home and I never saw a man more devoted to his family than Mr. Bassett.”

“There’s no complaint about that,” Mrs. Owen assented.  “And Morton’s a very intelligent man, too; you might even call him a student.  I’ve been sorry that he didn’t keep to the law; but he’s a moneymaker, and he’s in politics as a part of his business.”

“I’ve wondered,” said Professor Kelton, “just what he’s aiming at.  Most of these men are ambitious to go high.  He’s a state senator, but there’s not much in that.  He must see bigger game in the future.  I don’t know him myself; but from what you hear of him he must be a man of force.  Weak men don’t dominate political parties.”

“This political game looks mighty queer to me,” the admiral remarked.  “I’ve never voted in my life, but I guess I’ll try it now they’ve put me on the shelf.  Do you vote, Mr. Ware?”

“Oh, yes!  I’m one of these sentimentalists who tries to vote for the best man.  Naturally no man I ever vote for is elected.”

“If I voted I should want to see the man first,” Mrs. Owen averred.  “I should ask him how much he expected to make out of the job.”

“You’d be a tartar in politics, Sally,” said the admiral.  “The Governor told me the other day that when he hears that you’re coming to the State House to talk about the Woman’s Reformatory,—­or whatever it is you’re trustee of,—­he crawls under the table.  He says they were going to cut down the Reformatory’s appropriation last winter, but that you went to the legislature and gave an example of lobbying that made the tough old railroad campaigners green with envy.”

“I reckon I did!  I told the members of that committee that if they cut that appropriation I’d go into their counties and spend every cent I’ve got fighting ’em if they ever ran for office again.  Joshua, fill the glasses.”

Sylvia was anxious to know the rest of the story.

“I hope they gave you the money, Mrs. Owen,” she said.