We got our estimates together and looked them over. Mine read: "Ross 45%; Nelson 55%; McNye a trace." Tom's was: "fifty - fifty, against us." Mrs. Holmes had written, "A dull campaign, a light vote, and a trend against us." The computed results of the formal polls read; Ross 43%, Nelson 52%, McNye 5% - probable error plus - or - minus 9%.

I looked around. "Shall we cut our losses, or go on gallantly to defeat?"

"We aren't licked yet," Tom pointed out.

"No, but we're going to be. All we offer is the assumption that I'm better qualified than the little girl with the big eyes - a notion in which Joe Public is colossally uninterested. How about it, Mrs. Holmes? Can you make it up in the precincts?"

She faced me. "Jack, to be frank, it's all uphill. I'm working the old faithfuls too hard and I can't seem to stir out any new blood."

"We need excitement," Tom complained. "Let's throw some mud."

"At what?" I asked. "Want to accuse her of passing notes in school, or shall we say she sneaked out after taps when she was a WAC? She's got no record."

"Well, tackle her on housing. You've let her hog the best issue."

I shook my head. "If I knew the answers, I wouldn't be living in a trailer. I won't make phony promises. I've drawn up three bills, one to support the Federal Act, one to revise the building code, and one for a bond election for housing projects - that last one is a hot potato. None of them are much good. This housing shortage will be with us for years."

Tom said, "Jack, you shouldn't run for office. You don't have the fine, free optimism that makes a good public figure."

I grunted. "That's what I told you birds. I'm the manager type. A candidate who manages himself gets a split personality."

Mrs. Holmes knit her brows. "Jack - you know more about housing than she does. Let's hold a rally and debate it."

"Okay with me - I just work here. I once threatened to make her debate everything from streetcars to taxes. How about it, Torn?"

"Anything to make some noise."

I phoned at once. "Is this the Stooge with the Light Brown Hair?"

"That must be Jack Ross. Hello, Nasty. How's the baby - kissing?"

"Sticky. Remember I promised to debate the issues with you? How about 8 p.m. Wednesday the 15th?"

She said, "Hold the line - " I could hear a muffled rumble, then she said, "Jack? You tend to your campaign; I'll tend to mine."

"Better accept, kid. We'll challenge you publicly. Is Miss Nelson afraid to face the issues, quote and unquote."

"Goodbye, Jack."

"Uncle Sam won't let you, will he?" The phone clicked in my ear.

We went ahead anyway. I sold some war bonds and ordered a special edition of the Civic League News, with a Ross - for - Councilman front page, as a throwaway to announce the rally - prizes, entertainment, movies, and a super - colossal, gigantic debate between Ross in this corner and Nelson in that. We piled the bundles of papers in Mrs. Holmes' garage late Sunday night. Mrs. Holmes phoned about seven - thirty the next morning - "Jack," she yipped, "come over right away!"

"On my way. What's wrong?"

"Everything. Wait till you get here." When I did, she led me out to her garage; someone had broken in and had slit open our precious bundles - then had poured dirty motor oil on them.

Tom showed up while we were looking at the mess. "Pixies everywhere," he observed. "I'll call the Commercial Press."

"Don't bother," I said bitterly. "We can't pay for another run." But he went in anyhow. The kids who were to do the distributing started to show up; we paid them and sent them home. Tom came out. "Too late," he announced. "We would have to start from scratch - no time and too expensive."

I nodded and went in the house. I had a call to make myself. "Hello," I snapped, "is this Miss Nelson, the Independent Candidate?"

"This is Frances Nelson. Is this Jack Ross?"

"Yes. You were expecting me to call, I see."

"No, I knew your sweet voice. To what do I owe the honor?"

"I'd like to show you how well your boys have been campaigning.

"Just a moment - I've an appointment at ten; I can spare the time until then. What do you mean; how my boys have been campaigning?"

"You'll find out." I hung up.

I refused to talk until she had seen the sabotage. She stared. "It's a filthy, nasty trick, Jack - but why show it to me?"

"Who else?"

"But - Look, Jack, I don't know who did this, but it has nothing to do with me." She looked around at us. "You've got to believe me!" Suddenly she looked relieved. "I know! It wasn't me, so it must have been McNye."

Tom grunted. I said gently, "Look, darling, McNye is nobody. He's a seventeenth - rater who files to get his name in print. He wouldn't use sabotage because he's not out to win. It has to be you - wait! - not you personally, but the machine. This is what you get into when you accept the backing of wrong 'uns."

"But you're wrong! You're wrong! I'm not backed by the machine."

"So? Who runs your campaign? Who pays your bills?"

She shook her head. "A committee takes care of those things. My job is to show up at meetings and speak."

"Where did the committee come from? Did the stork bring it?"

"Don't be ridiculous. It's the Third District Homeowners' League. They endorsed me and set up a campaign committee for me."

I'm no judge of character, but she was telling the truth, as she saw it. "Ever hear of a dummy organization, kid? Your only connection with this Home - Owners' League is Sam Jorgens ... isn't it?"

"Why, no - that is - Yes, I suppose so."

"And I told you Jorgens was a tame dog for Boss Tully."

"Yes, but I checked on that, Jack. Uncle Sam explained the whole thing. Tully used to support him, but they broke because Uncle Sam wouldn't take the machine's orders. It's not his fault that the machine used to back him."

"And you believed him."

"No, I made him prove it. You said to check with the newspapers - Uncle Sam had me talk with the editor of the Herald." Tom snorted.

"He means," I told her, "that the Herald is part of the machine. I meant talk to reporters. Most of them are honest and all of them know the score. But I can't see how you could be so green. I know you've been away, but didn't you read the papers before the War?"

It developed that, what with school and the War, she hadn't been around town much since she was fifteen. Mrs. Holmes broke in, "Why, she's not eligible, Jack! She doesn't have the residence requirements."

I shook my head. "As a lawyer, I assure you she does. Those things don't break residence - particularly as she enlisted here. How about making us all some coffee, Mrs. Holmes?"

Mrs. Holmes bristled; I could see that she did not want to fraternize with the enemy, but I took her arm and led her into the house, whispering as I went. "Don't be hard on the kid, Molly. You and I made mistakes while we were learning the ropes. Remember Smythe?"

Smythe was as fine a stuffed shirt as ever took a bribe - we had given him our hearts' blood. Mrs. Holmes looked sheepish and relaxed. We chatted about the heat and presidential possibilities, then Frances said, "I'm conceding nothing, Jack - but I'm going to pay for those papers."

"Skip it," I said. "I'd rather bang Tully's heads together. But see here - you've got an hour yet; I want to show you something."

"Want me along, Jack?" Tom suggested, looking at Frances.

"If you like. Thanks for the coffee, Mrs. Holmes - I'll be back to clean up the mess." We drove to Dr. Potter's office and got the photostats we had on Jorgens out of his safe. We didn't say anything; I just arranged the exhibits in logical order. Frances didn't talk either, but her face got whiter and whiter. At last she said, "Will you take me home now, Mr. Ross?"

We bumped along for the next three weeks, chasing votes all day, licking stamps and stenciling auto bumper signs late at night and never getting enough sleep. Presently we noticed a curious fact - McNye was coming up. First it was billboards and throwaways, next was publicity - and then we began to get reports from the field of precinct work for McNye.