The Campaign
Mr. ¬ÝEasterly sat in Mrs. ¬ÝVanderpool‚Äôs apartments in the New Willard, Washington, drinking tea. His hostess was saying rather carelessly:
‚ÄúDo you know, Mr. ¬ÝVanderpool has developed a quite unaccountable liking for the idea of being Ambassador to France?‚Äù
‚ÄúDear me!‚Äù mildly exclaimed Mr. ¬ÝEasterly, helping himself liberally to cakes. ‚ÄúI do hope the thing can be managed, but‚ÅÝ‚Äî‚Äù
‚ÄúWhat are the difficulties?‚Äù Mrs. ¬ÝVanderpool interrupted.
“Well, first and foremost, the difficulty of electing our man.”
“I thought that a foregone conclusion.”
“It was. But do you know that we’re encountering opposition from the most unexpected source?”
The lady was receptive, and the speaker concluded:
“The Negroes.”
“The Negroes!”
“Yes. There are five hundred thousand or more black voters in pivotal Northern States, you know, and they’re in revolt. In a close election the Negroes of New York, Ohio, Indiana, and Illinois choose the President.”
“What’s the matter?”