She thought of Tom's running for office against her father as something
prodigiously strange. Certainly it was a bold and daring piece of youthful
audacity for him to be guilty of. He, a young sprig of the law, with his
brown mustache not yet grown, setting himself up to beat Colonel Mobley
Sommerton! Phyllis blushed whenever she thought of it; but the Colonel had
never once mentioned Tom's candidacy to her.
The convention was approaching, and day by day signs of popular interest in
it increased as the time shortened. Colonel Sommerton was preparing a
speech for the occasion. The manuscript of it lay on the desk in his
library.
About this time--it was near September 1st and the watermelons and
cantaloupes were in their glory--the Colonel was called away to a distant
town for a few days. In his absence Tom Bannister chanced to visit
Sommerton Place. Of course Phyllis was not expecting him; indeed, she told
him that he ought not to have come; but Tom thought differently in a very
persuasive way. The melons were good, the library delightfully cool, and
conversation caught the fragrance of innocent albeit stolen pleasure.
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