The town’s talk continued, as Katherine knew it would. But though she resented it in Bruce’s behalf, it was of small importance in her relationship with him compared with the difference in their opinions. She was in constant fear, every time he called, lest that difference should come up. But it did not on the next day, nor on the next. He was too full of love on the one hand, too full of his political fight on the other. The more she saw of him the more she loved him, so thoroughly fine, so deeply tender, was he—and the more did she dread that avoidless day when their ideas must come into collision, so masterful was he, so certain that he was right.

On the fourth evening after their stormy ride she thought the collision was at hand.

“There is something serious I want to speak to you about,” he began, as they sat in the old-fashioned parlour. “You know what the storm has done to the city water. It has washed all the summer’s accumulation of filth down into the streams that feed the reservoir, and since the filtering plant is out of commission the water has been simply abominable. The people are complaining louder than ever. Blake and the rest of his crew are telling the public that this water is a sample of what everything will be like if I’m elected. It’s hurting me, and hurting me a lot. I don’t blame the people so much for being influenced by what Blake says, for, of course, they don’t know what’s going on beneath the surface. But I’ve got to make some kind of a reply, and a mighty strong one, too. Now here’s where I want you to help me.”

“What can I do?” she asked.

“If I could only tell the truth—what a regular knock-out of a reply that would be!” he exclaimed. “Some time ago you told me to wait—you expected to have the proof a little later. Do you have any idea how soon you will have your evidence?”

Again she felt the impulse to tell him all she knew and all her plans. But a medley of motives worked together to restrain her. There was the momentum of her old decision to keep silent. There was the knowledge that, though he loved her as a woman, he still held her in low esteem as a lawyer. There was the instinct that what she knew, if saved, might in some way serve her when they two fought their battle. And there was the thrilling dream of waiting till she had all her evidence gathered and then bringing it triumphantly to him—and thus enable him through her to conquer.

“I’m afraid I can’t give you the proof for a while yet,” she replied.

She saw that he was impatient at the delay, that he believed she would discover nothing. She expected the outbreak that very instant. She expected him to demand that she turn the case over to the Indianapolis lawyer he had spoken to her about, who would be able to make some progress; to demand that she give up law altogether, and demand that as his intended wife she give up all thought of an independent professional career. She nerved herself for the shock of battle.

But it did not come.

“All right,” he said. “I suppose I’ll have to wait a little longer, then.”

He got up and paced the floor.

“But I can’t let Blake and his bunch go on saying those things without any kind of an answer from me. I’ve got to talk back, or get out of the fight!”

He continued pacing to and fro, irked by his predicament, frowning with thought. Presently he paused before her.

“Here is what I’m going to say,” he announced decisively. “Since I cannot tell the whole truth, I’m going to tell a small part of the truth. I’m going to say that the condition of the water is due to intentional mismanagement on the part of the present administration—which everybody knows is dominated by Blake. Blake’s party, in order to prevent my election on a municipal ownership platform, in order to make sure of remaining in power, is purposely trying to make municipal ownership fail. And I’m going to say this as often, and as hard, as I can!”

In the days that followed he certainly did say it hard, both in the Express and in his speeches. The charge had not been made publicly before, and, stated with Bruce’s tremendous emphasis, it now created a sensation. Everybody talked about it; it gave a yet further excitement to a most exciting campaign. There was vigorous denial from Blake, his fellow candidates, and from the Clarion, which was supporting the Blake ticket. Again and again the Clarion denounced Bruce’s charge as merely the words of a demagogue, a yellow journalist—merely the irresponsible and baseless calumny so common in campaigns. Nevertheless, it had the effect that Bruce intended. His stock took a new jump, and sentiment in his favour continued to grow at a rate that made him exult and that filled the enemy with concern.

This inquietude penetrated the side office of the Tippecanoe House and sorely troubled the heart of Blind Charlie Peck. So, early one afternoon, he appeared in the office of the editor of the Express. His reception was rather more pleasant than on the occasion of his first visit, now over a month before; for, although Katherine had repeated her warning, Bruce had given it little credit. He did not have much confidence in her woman’s judgment. Besides, he was reassured by the fact that Blind Charlie had, in every apparent particular, adhered to his bargain to keep hands off.

“Just wait a second,” Bruce said to his caller; and turning back to his desk he hastily scribbled a headline over an item about a case of fever down in River Court. This he sent down to the composing-room, and swung around to the old politician. “Well, now, what’s up?”

“I just dropped around,” said Blind Charlie, with his good-natured smile, “to congratulate you on the campaign you’re making. You’re certainly putting up a fine article of fight!”

“It does look as if we had a pretty fair chance of winning,” returned Bruce, confidently.

“Great! Great!” said Blind Charlie heartily. “I certainly made no mistake when I picked you out as the one man that could win for us.”

“Thanks. I’ve done my best. And I’m going to keep it up.”

“That’s right. I told you I looked on it as my last campaign. I’m pretty old, and my heart’s not worth a darn. When I go, whether it’s up or down, I’ll travel a lot easier for having first soaked Blake good and proper.”

Bruce did not answer. He expected Blind Charlie to leave; in fact, he wanted him to go, for it lacked but a quarter of an hour of press time. But instead of departing, Blind Charlie settled back in his chair, crossed his legs and leisurely began to cut off a comfortable mouthful from his plug of tobacco.

“Yes, sir, it’s a great fight,” he continued. “It doesn’t seem that it could be improved on. But a little idea has come to me that may possibly help. It may not be any good at all, but I thought it wouldn’t do any harm to drop in and suggest it to you.”

“I’ll be glad to hear it,” returned Bruce. “But couldn’t we talk it over, say in half an hour? It’s close to press time, and I’ve got some proofs to look through—in fact the proof of an article on that water-works charge of mine.”

“Oh, I’ll only take a minute or two,” said Blind Charlie. “And you may want to make use of my idea in this afternoon’s paper.”

“Well, go ahead. Only remember that at this hour the press is my boss.”

“Of course, of course,” said Blind Charlie amiably. “Well, here’s to business: Now I guess I’ve been through about as many elections as you are years old. It isn’t what the people think in the middle of the campaign that wins. It’s what they think on election day. I’ve seen many a horse that looked like he had the race on ice at the three quarters licked to a frazzle in the home stretch. Same with candidates. Just now you look like a winner. What we want is to make sure that you’ll still be out in front when you go under the wire.”

“Yes, yes,” said Bruce impatiently. “What’s your plan?”

“You’ve got the people with you now,” the old man continued, “and we want to make sure you don’t lose ’em. This water-works charge of yours has been a mighty good move. But I’ve had my ear to the ground. I’ve had it to the ground for nigh on fifty years, and if there’s any kind of a political noise, you can bet I hear it. Now I’ve detected some sounds which tell me that your water-works talk is beginning to react against you.”

“You don’t say! I haven’t noticed it.”

“Of course not; if you had, there’d be no use for me to come here and tell you,” returned Blind Charlie blandly. “That’s where the value of my political ear comes in. Now in my time I’ve seen many a sensation react and swamp the man that started it. That’s what we’ve got to look out for and guard against.”

“U’m! And what do you think we ought to do?”

Bruce was being taken in a little easier than Blind Charlie had anticipated.

“If I were you,” the old man continued persuasively, “I’d pitch the tune of the whole business in a little lower key. Let up on the big noise you’re making—cut out some of the violent statements. I think you understand. Take my word for it, quieter tactics will be a lot more effective at this stage of the game. You’ve got the people—you don’t want to scare them away.”

Bruce stared thoughtfully, and without suspicion, at the loose-skinned, smiling, old face.

“U’m!” he said. “U’m!”

Blind Charlie waited patiently for two or three minutes.

“Well, what do you think?” he asked.

“You may be right,” Bruce slowly admitted.

“There’s no doubt of it,” the old politician pleasantly assured him.

“And of course I’m much obliged. But I’m afraid I disagree with you.”

“Eh?” said Blind Charlie, with the least trace of alarm.

Bruce’s face tightened, and the flat of his hand came down upon his desk.

“When you start a fight, the way to win is to keep on fighting. And that’s what I’m going to do.”

Blind Charlie started forward in his chair.

“See here,” he began, authoritatively. But in an instant his voice softened. “You’ll be making a big mistake if you do that. Better trust to my older head in this. I want to win as much as you do, you know.”

“I admit you may be right,” said Bruce doggedly. “But I’m going to fight right straight ahead.”

“Come, now, listen to reason.”

“I’ve heard your reasons. And I’m going right on with the fight.”

Blind Charlie’s face grew grim, but his voice was still gentle and insinuating.

“Oh, you are, are you? And give no attention to my advice?”

“I’m sorry, but that’s the way I see it.”

“I’m sorry, but that’s the way I don’t see it.”

“I know; but I guess I’m running this campaign,” retorted Bruce a little hotly.

“And I guess the party chairman has some say-so, too.”

“I told you, when I accepted, that I would take the nomination without strings, or I wouldn’t take it at all. And you agreed.”

“I didn’t agree to let you ruin the party.”

Bruce looked at him keenly, for the first time suspicious. Katherine’s warning echoed vaguely in his head.

“See here, Charlie Peck, what the devil are you up to?”

“Better do as I say,” advised Peck.

“I won’t!”

“You won’t, eh?” Blind Charlie’s face had grown hard and dark with threats. “If you don’t,” he said, “I’m afraid the boys won’t see your name on the ticket on election day.”

Bruce sprang up.

“Damn you! What do you mean by that?”

“I reckon you’re not such an infant that you need that explained.”

“You’re right; I’m not!” cried Bruce. “And so you threaten to send word around to the boys to knife me on election day?”

“As I said, I guess I don’t need to explain.”

“No, you don’t, for I now see why you came here,” cried Bruce, his wrath rising as he realized that he had been hoodwinked by Blind Charlie from the very first. “So there’s a frame-up between you and Blake, and you’re trying to sell me out and sell out the party! You first tried to wheedle me into laying down—and when I wouldn’t be fooled, you turned to threats!”

“The question isn’t what I came for,” snapped Blind Charlie. “The question is, what are you going to do? Either you do as I say, or not one of the boys will vote for you. Now I want your answer.”

“You want my answer, do you? Why—why——” Bruce glared down at the old man in a fury. “Well, by God, you’ll get my answer, and quick!”

He dropped down before his typewriter, ran in a sheet of paper, and for a minute the keys clicked like mad. Then he jerked out the sheet of paper, scribbled a cabalistic instruction across its top, sprang to his office door and let out a great roar of “Copy!”

He quickly faced about upon Blind Charlie.

“Here’s my answer. Listen:

“‘This afternoon Charlie Peck called at the office of the Express and ordered its editor, who is candidate for mayor, to cease from his present aggressive campaign tactics. He threatened, in case the candidate refused, to order the “boys” to knife him at the polls.

“‘The candidate refused.

“‘Voters of Westville, do your votes belong to you, or do they belong to Charlie Peck?’