An urgent committee meeting was held, and
Mr. Bullsom at once called attention to an excellent little speech of
Kingston Brooks' at a ward meeting on the previous night. In an hour he
was closeted with the young lawyer, and the affair was settled. Brooks
knew that henceforth the material side of his career would be
comparatively easy sailing.
He had accepted his good fortune with something of the same cheerful
philosophy with which he had seen difficulty loom up in his path a few
months ago. But to-night, on his way home from Mr. Bullsom's suburban
residence, a different mood possessed him. Usually a self-contained and
somewhat gravely minded person, to-night the blood went tingling through
his veins with a new and unaccustomed warmth. He carried himself
blithely, the cool night air was so grateful and sweet to him that he
had no mind even to smoke. There seemed to be no tangible reason for
the change. The political excitement, which a few weeks ago he had
begun to feel exhilarating, had for him decreased now that his share in
it lay behind the scenes, and he found himself wholly occupied with the
purely routine work of the election.
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