Her Infinite Variety. Brand Whitlock

had quite forgotten them indeed, she impulsively stretched forth a hand and said:

      “You will help me, won’t you?”

      Vernon looked into her eyes. His gaze, after an instant, fell. He tried to run the stem of the rose through his buttonhole. The thorns caught in the cloth.

      “You’ll have to do it,” he said, helplessly.

      From some mysterious fold of her habit she took a pin, and then, leaning over, she pinned the rose to his coat, pinned it with its long stem hanging, as a woman would pin a flower to a man’s lapel.

      “Thank you.” He was looking into her eyes again.

      “Rather let me thank you,” she said. “It’s so good of you to vote for my measure.”

      His eyes widened suddenly. He had quite forgotten the resolution. She must have perceived this, for she blushed, and he hastened to make amends.

      “I’ll not only vote for it,” he rushed ahead impulsively, “but I’ll make a speech for it.” He straightened and leaned away from her to give a proper perspective in which she could admire him. He sat there smiling.

      “How splendid of you!” she cried. “I feel encouraged now.”

      Then Vernon’s face lengthened. He stammered: “But you’ll have to give me some data; I—I don’t know a thing about the subject.”

      “Oh,” she laughed, “I brought some literature. It shall all be at your disposal. And now, I must be about my work. Can you make any suggestions? Can you tell me whom I should see, whom I should interest, who has the—ah—pull, I believe you call it?”

      “I’ll bring them to you,” Vernon said. “You sit here and hold court.”

      He rose and his eyes swept the chamber. They lighted on Burns, and an idea suddenly came to him. He would revenge himself on Burns for all the slights of the session.

      “Of course you’ll have to see Sam Porter, but I’ll begin by bringing Senator Burns—familiarly known as Bull Burns.”

      “I’ve read of him so often in the newspapers,” she said. “It would be an experience.”

      Vernon went over to Burns’s seat and touched him on the shoulder.

      “Come on,” he said in a tone of command, speaking for once from the altitude of his social superiority. And for once he was successful. The burly fellow from the First District stood up and looked inquiringly.

      “Come with me,” Vernon said; “there’s a Chicago lawyer back here who wants to see you.”

      Burns followed and an instant later Vernon halted before Miss Greene. The other men, who had quickly returned to her side, made way, and Vernon said:

      “Miss Greene, may I present Senator Burns, of the First District?”

      Miss Greene smiled on the big saloon-keeper, who instantly flamed with embarrassment. She gave him her hand, and he took it in his fat palm, carefully, lest he crush it.

      “I am delighted to meet Senator Burns; I’ve heard of you so often,” she said, looking up at him. “And do you know I count it a privilege to meet one of your acknowledged influence in our state’s affairs?”

      Vernon stood back, delighted beyond measure with the confusion into which Burns for once had been betrayed. The senator from the First District was struggling for some word to say, and at last he broke out with:

      “Aw now, lady, don’t be t’rowin’ de con into me.”