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Mr. Boyle 57haven't the brains to vote, have they,now?""Yez know Timmy Slaggin, what sellsshoe-shtrings ?" Huntington admittedthat he knew Timmy. "Him wid th' ridnose ? He's dhrunk whin things go well—he's wake in the upper shtory whin heain't dhrunk. You know him?""Yes, I know him," said Huntington."What about him?" And the others listened,expecting an anecdote of Timmy."What about him?" Huntington asked."He votes," said Mr. Boyle.There was a moment's silence as thesimple argument sank in. Then DickBattle spoke. "It's not that the womenaren't good enough," he shot out in theimpulsive manner that was characteristicand winning. " It's that they're too good.We don't want them messing in the mudof politics. It's bromide, but woman'ssphere is home—by George, it is ! Isn'tit, Mr. Boyle?" He put it to the root ofthe argument.Mr. Boyle scratched his curly head."Be jabers, they're foine on th homejob," he acknowledged. "Oi've an ideethey'd shtick to their homes and familiesaven if they got th' vote," he added, andhesitated, and the group of clever ladswaited, attentive. "Th' law is an exthryardin'ryshtudy," Mr. Boyle went on." An' doos th' law provide thot all wimminwidout homes can git thim by applyin' tothe anti-soofragette association?" he demanded."You antis go back to work," HollowayByrd advised. "You're getting the worstof it. And we had all better pitch innow," he spoke. One after another theboys dropped into the swinging seats beforetheir desks and bent their heads overbooks and papers, and Dick Battle, lookingup as he faced the open door, saw thelight and shadow of a lantern spring highand low, bright and dark across the ceilingand walls of the long corridor, andheard the rich burring of Mr. Boyle'svoice as he sang in an undertone till heturned the corner something cheerful andindefinite about" 'Two little maids in blueTra-la-la—Tra-la-la.' "Next evening Battle left the Record officefor an hour or two, early. As he hurriedacross the campus under starlight hebrought up suddenly. " Me distinguishedfri'nd," spoke a voice."Oh, hello, Mr. Boyle," smiled Dick." Good evening.""Good evenin', me distinguishedfri'nd," answered Mr. Boyle, and went onpromptly, evidently laboring under someexcitement: "Yez see thim shtars upthere?" he demanded." I do," acknowledged Dick."Do yez know," stated Mr. Boyleheatedly, "they've the owdacity to tellme they kin measure the distince to thimshtars.""No?" Dick considered. After the reflectionsof the night before on his mentalbalance he hesitated to indorse madastronomers; with a useful platitude hehurried on.For he wanted to get somewhere. Hehad managed an hour off, and he did notwish to waste any of it. Though he hadnot known the girl long, he faced alreadythe fact that he would rather be with heranywhere than with any one else anywhereelse. There was something abouther, there was a charm, there was an intangible,thrilling interest, there was—which is always, without exception, thecase. If half the race had been throughthe experience the other half would beforever ignorant of it, for there is no wayof telling that adventure. It is likely thatall adventures which involve depths ofliving are similarly inarticulate. DickBattle, swinging across the campus to thedean's house, did not generalize; his innervision was concentrated. He saw a pictureof a lighted room, of books and firelight,of a girl in white—and he walked faster."Do you want to hear Mr. Boyle'slatest?" he asked when the dream hadcome true and he sat there and saw her,her dress a blue of rosy white, the fairhead a manner of halo against long linesof friendly volumes, while the fire crackledin an undertone and the voice whichseemed to be so exactly the sweetest voicein the world tossed words at him whichrippled like running water. Extraordinaryhow everything about this girl wasthe most attractive of its kind ! " Do youwant to hear?" Dick inquired, talkingsurface talk while his heart burned withinhim.