"She's a lady," stated Mrs. Holmes.

"But," I objected, "we can't elect her in the finals. We can't pin anything on McNye and she's too green to stand up to what the machine can do to her in a long campaign. Tully knows what he's doing."

"I'm afraid you're right," Potter agreed. "Jack," said Tom, "I take it you think we're licked now.

"Ask Mrs. Holmes."

Mrs. Holmes said, "I hate to say so, and I'm not quitting, but it would take a miracle to put Jack on the final ballot."

"Okay," said Tom, "let's quit being boy scouts and have some fun the rest of the campaign. I don't like the way Boss Tully campaigns. We've played fair; what we've gotten in return is shenanigans."

"What do you want to do?"

He explained. Presently I nodded and said, "I'm all for it-and a wrinkle of my own. It'll be fun, and it just might work."

"Well, call her up then!"

I got Frances Nelson on the phone. "Jack Ross, Frances. Haven't seen you around much, sweetheart. How's the campaign?"

She sounded tired. "Oh, that- What campaign, Jack?"

"Did you withdraw? I haven't seen any announcement."

"It wasn't necessary. I had a show-down with Jorgens and after that my campaign just disappeared. The committee vanished away. Look, Jack, I'd like to see you-to apologize."

"Forget it, I want to see you, too. I'll pick you up." We laid it on the line. "I'm dropping out of the race, Frances. We want to throw our organizational support to you-provided."

She stared. "But you can't, Jack. I'm going to vote for you."

"Huh? Never mind, you won't get a chance to." I showed her the Herald story. "It's a phony, but it licks me anyhow. I should have played up my homeless condition but, like a dope, I let them do it. It's too late now-when a candidate has to explain things he's back on his heels and ready for the knockout. I was a fifty-fifty squeeze at best; this tips the balance."

She was staring at the picture, bug-eyed, knuckles pressed to her mouth. "Jack- Oh, dear! I've gone and done it again."

"Done what?"

"Got you into this mess. I told Sam Jorgens all about our first talk, including how you had to camp out in a trailer. I-"

I brushed it aside. "No matter. They would have stumbled on it anyhow. See here-we're going to take you on. We might even elect you."

"But I don't want the job, Jack. I want you to have it.

"Too late, Frances. But we want to beat that spare tire, McNye. The machine is still using you, to beat me in the primary by splitting the non-machine vote; then they'll settle your hash. I've got a gimmick for that. But first-you call yourself an independent. Well, you aren't now."

"What do you mean? I won't be anything else."

"They gave women the vote! Look, darling, a candidate can be unbossed, but not independent. Independence is an adolescent notion. To merit support you have to commit yourself-and there goes your independence.

"But I- Oh, politics is a rotten business!"

"You make me tired! Politics is just as clean-or as dirty-as the people who practice it. The people who say it's dirty are too lazy to do their part in it." She dropped her face into her hands. I took her by the shoulders, and shook her. "Now you listen to me. I'm going over our program, point by point. If you agree with it and commit yourself, you're our candidate. Right?"

"Yes, Jack." It was just a whisper.

We ran through it. There was no trouble, it was sane and sensible, likely to appeal to anyone with no ax to grind. The points she did not understand we let lay over. She liked especially my housing bills and began to perk up and sound like a candidate.

"Okay," I said finally. "Here's the gimmick. I'll get my name off the ballot so that the race will be over in the primary. It's too late to do it myself, but they've played into my hands. It'll be a court order, for ineligibility through non-residence."

Dr. Potter looked up sharply. "Come again, son? I thought you said your legal position was secure."

I grinned. "It is-if I fight. But I won't. Here's the gag-we bring a citizen's suit through a couple of dummies. The court orders me to show cause. I default. Court has no option but to order my name stricken from the ballot. One, two, three."

Tom cheered. I bowed. "Now Dr. Potter is your new campaign chairman. You go on as before, going where you are sent and speaking your piece. Oh, yes-I'm going to give you some homework on other issues than housing. As for Tom and me-we're the special effects department. Just forget us."

Three days later I was off the ballot. Tom handled it so that it looked like McNye and Tully. Mrs. Holmes had the delicate job of convincing our precinct work- ers that Frances was our new white hope. Dr. Potter and d.i.c.k Blair got Frances endorsed by the Civic League-the League would endorse a giant panda against a Tully man. And d.i.c.k Blair worked up a veterans' division.

Leaving Tom and me free for fun and games.

First we got a glamor pic of Frances, one that made her look like Liberty Enlightening the World, with great sorrowful eyes and a n.o.ble forehead, and had it blown up for billboards-6-sheets; 24-sheets look like too much dough.

We got a "good" picture of McNye, too-good for us. Like this-you send two photographers to a meeting where your man is to speak. One hits him with a flash bulb; the second does also, right away, before the victim can recover from his reflex. Then you throw the first pic away. We got a picture which showed McNye as pop-eyed, open-mouthed, and idiotic-a Kallikak studying to be a Jukes. It was so good we had to tone it down. Then I went up state and got some printing done, very privately.

We waited until the last few days, then got busy. First we put snipe sheets on our own billboards, right across Frances' beautiful puss so that those eyes looked appealingly at you over the paster. "VOTE FOR McNYE" they read. Two nights later it was quarter cards, this time with his lovely picture: VOTE FOR McNYE-A WOMAN'S PLACE IS IN THE HOME. We stuck them up on private property, too.

Tom and I drove around the next day admiring our handiwork. "It's beautiful," Tom said dreamily. "Jack, do you suppose there is any way we could get the Communist Party to endorse McNye?"

"I don't see how," I admitted, "but if it doesn't cost too much I've still got a couple of war bonds."

He shook his head. "It can't work, but it's a lovely thought."

We saved our double-whammie for the day before election. It was expensive-but wait. We hired some skid-row characters on Sat.u.r.day, through connections Tom has, and specified that they must show up with two-day beards on Monday. We fed each one a sandwich loaded with garlic, gave him literature and instructions-ring the doorbell, blow his breath in the victim's face, and hand her a handbill, saying abruptly, "Here's how you vote, lady!" The handbill said, "VOTE FOR McNYE" and had his special picture. It had the rest of Tully's slate too, and some choice quotes of McNye's best double talk. Around the edge it said "100% American-lOO% American."

We pushed the stumbleb.u.ms through an average of four precincts apiece, concentrating on the better neighborhoods.

That night there was an old-fashioned torchlight parade-Mrs. Holmes' show, and the wind-up of the proper campaign. It started off with an elephant and donkey (Heaven knows where she borrowed the elephant!) The elephant carried signs: I'M FOR FRANCES; the donkey, SO AM I. There was a kid's band, flambeaux carried by our weary volunteers, and a platoon of WAC and WAVE veterans marching ahead of the car that carried Frances. She looked scared and lovely.

Tom and I watched it, then got to work. No sleep that night- More pasters. Windshield size this time, 3"xlO", with glue on the printed side. I suppose half the cars in town have no garages, housing being what it is. We covered every block in the district before dawn, Tom driving and me on the right with a pail of water, a sponge, and stickers. He would pull alongside a car; I would slap a sticker on the windshield where it would stare the driver in the face-and have to be sc.r.a.ped off. They read: VOTE FOR McNYE-KEEP AMERICA PURE.

We figured it would help to remind people to vote. I voted myself when the polls opened, then fell into bed.

I pulled myself together in time to get to the party at the headquarters-an empty building we had borrowed for the last month of the campaign. I hadn't given a thought to poll watchers or an honest count- that was Mrs. Holmes' baby-but I didn't want to miss the returns.

One election party is like another-the same friendly drunks, the same silent huddle around the radio, the same taut feeling. I helped myself to some beer and potato chips and joined the huddle.

"Anything yet," I asked Mrs. Holmes. "Where's Frances?"

"Not yet. I made her lie down."

"Better get her out here. The candidate has to be seen. When people work for a pat on the back, you've got to give 'em the pat."

But Frances showed up about then, and went through the candidate routine-friendly, gracious, thanking people, etc. I began to think about running her for Congress.

Tom showed up, bleary-eyed, as the first returns came in. All McNye. Frances heard them and her smile slipped. Dr. Potter went over to her and said, "It's not important-the machine's precincts are usually first to report." She plastered her smile back on.

McNye piled up a big lead. Then our efforts began to show-Nelson was pulling up. By 10:30 it was neck and neck. After a while it began to look as if we had elected a councilman.

Around midnight McNye got on the air and conceded.

So I'm a councilman's field secretary now. I sit outside the rail when the council meets; when I scratch my right ear, Councilman Nelson votes "yes"; if I scratch my left ear, she votes "no"-usually.

Marry her? Me? Tom married her. They're building a house, one bedroom and two bathrooms. When they can get the fixtures, that is.