Why the Telegraph remained mute
was rather mystifying. Warrington saw the hand of McQuade in this. The
party papers had to defend the senator, but their defense was not so
strong as it might have been. Not a single sheet came out frankly for
Warrington. The young candidate smoked his pipe and said nothing, but
mentally he was rolling up his sleeves a little each day. He had not
yet pulled through the convention. Strong as the senator was, there
might yet be a hitch in the final adjustment. So far nothing had come
of Bolles' trip to New York. Occasionally newspapers from the nearby
towns fell into Warrington's hands. These spoke of his candidacy in
the highest terms, and belabored the editors of Herculaneum for not
accepting such a good chance of ridding itself of McQuadeism.
Meantime, there was fishing, long trips into the heart of the forests,
dancing at the hotel at the head of the lake, billiards and music.
Warrington was already deeply tanned, and Patty's nose was liberally
sprinkled with golden freckles.
One evening Kate and John sat on the veranda from where they could
easily watch Warrington and Patty in the music-room.
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