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