"
Dr. Wilson smoked in silence for a moment. The fire of soft coal purred
in the grate, the smoke from his pipe ascended in the warm air. The
thin sunshine of the winter afternoon filtered in through the windows,
and made bright patches on the rugs.
"By the way," Wilson asked lazily, "how is the campaign going? I
haven't heard anything interesting about it for some time."
"Oh, things are moving on. The man I sent up to canvass the western
part of the state--one of your sterilized milk-of-the-word babies, you
know,--got smashed up in the accident; but he'll be back in a few days.
Cousin Anna has brought her pensioners into line beautifully. There's
no doubt that we'll carry the convention."
"What happens after that?"
"The election has to be ratified by a majority of bishops; but of
course they'll hardly dare to go against the convention, even if they
want to."
"It would make things much more interesting if they'd do it, and get up
a scandal," commented the doctor. "You'll get bored to death with the
whole thing if something exciting doesn't turn up."
"I had half a mind to get up a scandal myself with Mr.
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