He did not even know her history.
At the thought of Mrs.Sluss--her hard, cold, blue eyes--Mr.Sluss arose, tall and distrait, and ran his hand through his hair.

He walked to the window, snapping his thumb and middle finger and looking eagerly at the floor.

He thought of the telephone switchboard just outside his private office, and wondered whether his secretary, a handsome young Presbyterian girl, had been listening, as usual.

Oh, this sad, sad world! If the North Side ever learned of this--Hand, the newspapers, young MacDonald--would they protect him?
They would not.

Would they run him for mayor again?
Never! Could the public be induced to vote for him with all the churches fulminating against private immorality, hypocrites, and whited sepulchers?
Oh, Lord! Oh, Lord! And he was so very, very much respected and looked up to--that was the worst of it all.