Miss Van Dyke's Best Story
rang in her ears from the hoarsely shrieking throats of thousands of excited men. Miss Van Dyke turned from the window with a shocked expression.
Matthews brushed past her, his hat on the back of his head, his tie under his ear, his expression eloquent of disgust. He had not a word or glance for her—he who was usually her most loyal and devoted slave, and who had assured her that he should always continue to be at least this, as she would make him nothing more.
"A landslide for Tammany, is n't it?" called one of the artists as Matthews passed his easel. "Everything will be wide-open after this! Good times coming in the Tenderloin again. Eh, old man?"
"Coming," repeated Matthews, with contemptuous scorn. "They 've come. It's broken loose already. The Tenderloin has been celebrating for two hours past. By this time it's a blaze of the old-time glory."
He strode on, into the managing editor's office. With a sudden impulse Miss Van Dyke followed him. An inspiration had
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