¬ÝVanderpool smiled and called her maid as Mr. ¬ÝEasterly went.
“Zora!” She had to call twice, for Zora, with widened eyes, was reading the Washington Post.
Meantime in the office of Senator Smith, toward which Mr. ¬ÝEasterly was making his way, several members of the National Republican campaign committee had been closeted the day before.
“Now, about the niggers,” the chairman had asked; “how much more boodle do they want?”
“That’s what’s bothering us,” announced a member; “it isn’t the boodle crowd that’s hollering, but a new set, and I don’t understand them; I don’t know what they represent, nor just how influential they are.”
“What can I do to help you?” asked Senator Smith.
“This. You