This page has been proofread, but needs to be validated.
On Behalf of the Management
305

notified the rest of the gang that there was something doing at the captain’s office. We set up headquarters in an old ’dobe house on a side street where the grass was waist high. The election was only four weeks off; but there wasn’t any excitement. The home candidate for president was named Roadrickeys. This town of Espiritu was n’t the capital any more than Cleveland, Ohio, is the capital of the United States, but it was the political centre where they cooked up revolutions, and made up the slates.

“At the end of the week Denver says the machine is started running.

“‘Sully,’ says he, ‘we’ve got a walkover. Just because General Rompiro ain’t Don Juan-on-the-spot the other crowd ain’t at work. They’re as full of apathy as a territorial delegate during the chaplain’s prayer. Now, we want to introduce a little hot stuff in the way of campaigning, and we’ll surprise ’em at the polls.’

“‘How are you going to go about it?’ I asks.

“‘Why, the usual way,’ says Denver, surprised. “We‘ll get the orators on our side out every night to make speeches in the native lingo, and have torch-light parades under the shade of the palms, and free drinks, and buy up all the brass bands, of course, and—well, I’ll turn the baby-kissing over to you, Sully—I’ve seen a lot of ’em.’

“‘What else?’ says I.

“‘Why, you know,’ says Denver. ‘We get the heelers out with the crackly two-spots, and coal-tickets, and orders for groceries, and have a couple of picnics out under the banyan-trees, and dances in the Firemen’s