"
"Why not?" asked Louise, softly.
"Because it doesn't interest me," he replied.
"Are you so sure of election?" inquired Beth.
"I'm sure of defeat, if you must know," he declared, scowling at the
recollection of his predicament.
"You haven't been cowardly enough to give up?" asked Patricia, boldly.
"What do you mean by that, Patsy Doyle?" he asked, the scowl deepening.
"Just what I say, Ken. A brave man doesn't know when he's beaten, much
less beforehand."
He looked at her fixedly.
"I'm not brave, my dear," he replied, more gently than they had
expected. "The people here don't understand me, nor I them. I'm laughed
at and reviled, a subject for contemptuous jeers, and--and it hurts me.
I don't like to be beaten. I'd fight to the last gasp, if I had any show
to win. But these conditions, which I foolishly but honestly brought
about myself, have defeated me so far in advance that I have absolutely
no hope to redeem myself. That's all. Don't speak of it again, girls.
Play me that nocturne that I like, Beth."
"We've got to speak of this, Kenneth, and speak of it often. For we
girls have come down here to electioneer, and for no other reason on
earth," declared Patsy.
"_What! You_ electioneer?"--a slight smile curled his lips.
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