" "Wrong? What the devil could be wrong?" McClintock had demanded, irascibly. He walked through the misty September night to his rooms. " "Here are your despatches," said Jonathan with a significant look, and giving him a sealed packet. . “I throw it out in passing,” he said. Kneebone cordially on the shoulder, and began to laugh as heartily as any of them. ” She batted his arms and slapped him, angrily twisting from his grasp. “A ballot-box, you know,” he said, “is very largely just a box. “It’s—private.
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