"Nothing."

"Nor I. Well, we'll look him over tonight." The Civic League had called a "meet - the - candidates" meeting that night. I drove out to the trailer camp where I hang my hat - then a shower, a shave, put on my hurtin' shoes, and back to town. It gave me time to think.

It's not unusual for a machine to replace - temporarily - a man whose record smells too ripe with a citizen of no background to be sniped at. I could visualize Nelson - young, manly looking, probably a lawyer and certainly a veteran. He would be so politically naive that he would stand without hitching, or so ambitious that it would blind him to what he must do to keep the support of the machine. Either way the machine could use him.

I got there just in time to be introduced and take a seat on the platform. I couldn't spot Nelson but I did see Cliff Meyers, standing with some girl. Meyers is a handyman for Boss Tully - Nelson would be around close

McNye accepted the call of the peepul in a few hundred well - worn words then the chairman introduced Nelson " - a veteran of this war and candidate for the same office"

The girl standing with Meyers walked up and took the stage

They clapped and somebody in the balcony gave a wolf whistle Instead of getting flustered, she smiled up and said, "Thank you!"

They clapped again and whistled and stomped She started talking I'm not bright - I had trouble learning to wave bye - bye and never did master patty - cake. I expected her to apologize for Nelson's absence and identify herself as his wife or sister or something. She was into her fourth paragraph before I realized that she was Nelson. j Francis X. Nelson - Frances X. Nelson. I wondered what I had done to deserve this. Female candidates are poison to run against at best; you don't dare use the ordinary rough - and - tumble, while she is free to use anything from a blacksnake whip to mickeys in your coffee.

Add to that ladylike good looks, obvious intelligence, platform poise - and a veteran. I couldn't have lived that wrong. I tried to catch Tohi Griffith's eye to share my misery, but he was looking at her and the lunk was lapping it up.

Nelson - Miss Nelson - was going to town on housing. "You promised him that when he got out of that foxhole nothing would be too good for him. And what did he get? A shack in shanty - town, the sofa in his inlaws' parlor, a garage with no plumbing. If I am elected I shall make it my first concern - "

You couldn't argue against it. Like good roads, good weather, and the American Home, everybody is for veterans' housing.

When the meeting broke up, I snagged Tom and we rounded up the leaders of the Third District Association and adjourned to the home of one of the members. "Look, folks," I told them, "when we caucused and I agreed to run, our purpose was to take a bite out of the machine by kicking out Jorgens. Well, the situation has changed. It's not too late for me to forfeit the filing fee. How about it?"

Mrs. Holmes - Mrs. Bixby Holmes, as fine an old warhorse as ever swung a gavel - looked amazed. "What's gotten into you, Jack? Getting rid of Jorgens is only half of it. We have to put in men we can depend on. For this district, you're it."

I shook my head. "I didn't want to be the candidate; I wanted to manage. We should have had a veteran. "There's nothing wrong with your war record," pitched in Dick Blair.

"Maybe not, but it's useless politically. We needed a veteran." I had shuffled papers in the legal section of the Manhattan project - in civilian clothes. Dick Blair, a paratrooper and Purple Heart, had been my choice. But Dick had begged off, and who is to tell a combat veteran that he has got to make further sacrifice for the dear peepul?

"I abided by the will of the group, because Jorgens was not a veteran either. Now look at the damn thing - What makes you think I can beat her? She's got political sex - appeal."

"She's got more than political sex - appeal" - this from Tom.

When Dr. Potter spoke we listened; he's the old head in our group. "That's the wrong tack, Jack. It does not matter whether you win."

"I don't believe in lost causes, Doctor."

"I do. And so will you, someday. If Miss Nelson is Tully's choice to succeed Jorgens, then we must oppose her."

"She is with the machine, isn't she?" asked Mrs. Holmes.

"Sure she is," Tom told her. "Didn't you see that Cliff Meyers had her in tow? She's a stooge - the Stooge with the Light Brown Hair."

I insisted on a vote; they were all against me. "Okay," I agreed, "if you can take it, I can. This means a tougher campaign. We thought the dirt we had on Jorgens was enough; now we've got to dig."

"Don't fret, Jack," Mrs. Holmes soothed me. "We'll dig. I'll take charge of the precinct work."

"I thought your daughter in Denver was having a baby?"

"So she is. I'll stick."

I ducked out soon after, feeling much better, not because I thought I could win, but because of Mrs. Holmes and Dr. Potter and more like them. The team spirit you get in a campaign is pretty swell; I was feeling it again and recovering my pre - War zip.

Before the War our community was in good shape. We had kicked out the local machine, tightened up civil service, sent a police lieutenant to jail, and had put the bidding for contracts on an honest - to - goodness competitive basis - not by praying on Sunday, either, but by volunteer efforts of private citizens willing to get out and punch doorbells.

Then the War came along and everything came unstuck.

Naturally, the people who can be depended on for the in - and - out - of - season grind of volunteer politics are also the ones who took the War the most seriously. From Pearl Harbor to Hiroshima they had no time for politics. It's a wonder the city hail wasn't stolen during the War - bolted to its foundations, I guess.

On my way home I stopped at a drive - in for a hamburger and some thought. Another car squeezed in close beside me. I glanced up, then blinked my eyes. "Well, I'll be - Miss Nelson! Who let you out alone?"

She jerked her head around, ready to bristle, then turned on the vote - getter. "You startled me. You're Mr. Ross, aren't you?"

"Your future councilman," I agreed. "You startled me. How's the politicking? Where's Cliff Meyers? Dump him down a sewer?"

She giggled. "Poor Mr. Meyers! I said goodnight to him at my door, then came over here. I was hungry."

"That's no way to win elections. Why didn't you invite him in and scramble some eggs?"

"Well, I just didn't want - I mean I wanted a chance to think. You won't tell on me?" She gave me the you great - big - strong - man look.

"I'm the enemy - remember? But I won't. Shall I go away, too?"

"No, don't. Since you are going to be my councilman, I ought to get acquainted. Why are you so sure you will beat me, Mr. Ross?"

"Jack Ross - your friend and mine. Have a cigar. I'm not at all sure I can beat you. With your natural advantages and Tully's gang behind you I should 'a stood in bed.

Her eyes went narrow; the vote - getter smile was gone. "What do you mean?" she said slowly. "I'm an independent candidate."

It was my cue to crawl, but I passed. "You expect me to swallow that? With Cliff Meyers at your elbow - " The car hop interrupted us; we placed our orders and I resumed. She cut in.

"I do want to be alone," she snapped and started to close her window.

I reached out and placed a hand on the glass. "Just a moment. This is politics; you are judged by the company you keep. You show up at your first meeting and Cliff Meyers has you under his wing."

"What's wrong with that? Mr. Meyers is a perfect gentleman."

"And he's good to his mother. He's a man with no visible means of support, who does chores for Boss Tully. I thought what everybody thought, that the boss had sent him to chaperone a green candidate."