“I shall be silent for half a dozen reasons,” Warrington replied.  “But I shan’t keep you waiting a week.  Call me up by ’phone to-morrow at any time between five and six.  I shall say yes or no, direct.”

“I like to hear a man talk like that.”

“I can’t get the idea into my head yet.  I never expected to meddle with politics in this town.”

“We’ll do the meddling for you.  Even if you accept, we shall require silence till the convention.  It will be a bomb in the enemy’s camp.  You’ll come around to the idea.  Between five and six, then?”

“I shall have your answer ready.  Good night.”

The senator took himself off, while Warrington ordered a bottle of beer and drank it thoughtfully.  Mayor!  It would be a huge joke indeed to come back to Herculaneum to rule it.  He chuckled all the way home that night; but when his head struck the pillow he saw the serious side of the affair.  He recalled the old days when they sneered at him for selling vegetables; and here they were, coming to him with the mayoralty.  It was mighty gratifying.  And there was the promise of Washington.  But he knew the world:  political promises and pie-crusts.  What would the aunt say?  What would Patty say?  Somehow, he was always thinking of Patty.  He had not thought as yet to make any analysis of his regard for Patty.  He held her in the light of an agreeable comrade, nothing more than that.  Would she be pleased to see him mayor of Herculaneum?  Bah!  He couldn’t sleep.  He got out of bed, found a pipe and lighted it, and sat in the rocker by the window.  Jove, hearing him moving about the room, woke up and came trotting in to inquire.

“Ha, old boy, what do you think?”

Jove laid his head on his master’s knees.

“They want to make a mayor out of me.”

Jove signified his approval.

“They have forgiven us our daily vegetables.  But shall I?  Will it be worth while?  Well, we’ll take a ride into the hills in the morning, and we’ll think it all out.  Mayor of Herculaneum; sounds good, doesn’t it?  Nothing like success, Jove.”

Warrington smoked till the fire in his pipe died.  He turned in, and this time he won sleep.

Early the next morning he was off on his horse, and he did not return till noon.  But he had his answer.

At three that afternoon he had callers.  Patty and Kate had just run over to see how the new play was getting on.  Warrington confessed that he was doing only desultory work, but promised to read the scenario to them when it was done.

“You are becoming lazy,” said Kate rebukingly.

“No; only a country gentleman.”

“Patty, did you hear that?  He calls Herculaneum a country village.”

“Nothing of the sort.  One may live in a city and be a countryman still.”

“Mr. Warrington probably misses New York,” said Patty.

“Not the veriest particle,” promptly.  Certainly Patty was growing more charming every day.