He reflected for a moment what terrible things passion and love are--how they make fools of us all.

"All of us are in the grip of a great creative impulse," he said to himself.

He talked of other things for a while--the approaching election, a poster-wagon he had seen bearing the question, "Shall Cowperwood own the city ?" "Pretty cheap politics, I call that," he commented.

And then he told of stopping in a so-called Republican wigwam at State and Sixteenth streets--a great, cheaply erected, unpainted wooden shack with seats, and of hearing himself bitterly denounced by the reigning orator.

"I was tempted once to ask that donkey a few questions," he added, "but I decided I wouldn't." Aileen had to smile.