It represented West, unpleasantly caricatured, garbed in a
swallow-tail coat and enormous white gloves, with a gardenia in his
buttonhole, engaged in booting a lad of singular nobility of countenance
out of an open door. A tag around the lad's neck described him as "The
Workingman's Son." Under the devilish drawing ran a line which said,
succinctly, "His Policies." On page four was a double column,
double-leaded editorial, liberal with capitals and entitled: "Justice in
Silk Stockings."
But this was only a beginning. Next morning's _Post_, which West had
counted on to come to his assistance with a ringing leader, so earnestly
discussed rotation of crops and the approaching gubernatorial campaign,
that it had not a line for the little disturbance at the college. If
this was a disappointment to West, a greater blow awaited him. Not to
try to gloss over the mortifying circumstance, he was hissed when he
entered the morning assembly--he, the prince, idol, and darling of his
students. Though the room was full, the hissing was of small
proportions, but rather too big to be ignored.
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