Tom Bannister was unquestionably a handsome young fellow, carrying a
hearty, whole-souled expression in his open, almost rosy face. His large
brown eyes, curly brown hair, silken young mustache, and firmly set mouth
and chin well matched his stalwart, symmetrical form. He was not only
handsome, he was brilliant in a way, and his memory was something
prodigious. Unquestionably he would rise rapidly.
"I am going to beat your father for the nomination," he remarked, midmost
the discussion of their melons, speaking in a tone of the most absolute
confidence.
"Tom," she exclaimed, "you mustn't do it!"
"Why, I'd like to know?"
She looked at him as if she felt a sudden fright. His eyes fell before her
intense, searching gaze.
"It would be dreadful," she presently managed to say. "Papa couldn't bear
it."
"It will ruin me forever if I let him beat me. I shall have to go away from
here." It was now his turn to become intense.
"I don't see what makes men think so much of office," she complained,
evasively. "I've heard papa say that there was absolutely no profit in
going to the Legislature.
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