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“He won’t put up enough of a fight to make it interesting, I’m afraid,” Mr. Hopkins confided to his cronies.

But he didn’t intend to take chances, so he began the campaign with his usual vigor.

It was now the middle of September, and the election was to be early in November.

The Honorable Erastus Hopkins was thoroughly enjoying his campaign.

He was not an especially popular man in his district, and he knew it. Physically he was big and stout, with a florid face and small eyes that blinked continually. His head was bald, his hands fat and red and his feet enormous.

To offset this Mr. Hopkins wore a silk hat and a “Prince Albert” coat morning, noon and night. His gold watch-chain was huge and imposing; he had a big diamond shirt-stud, and upon his puffy fingers several rings. He conveyed, nevertheless, the impression that he was more prosperous than refined, and the farmers and townsmen were as quick to recognize this as was Mr. Watson himself.

Moreover, the Honorable Erastus was dubbed “close-fisted” by his neighbors. He never spent a penny on anyone but himself, and being unscrupulous in politics he was naturally unscrupulous in smaller things of a business nature. But since he had risen from a stable-boy to his present affluent position he had never been unwise or careless enough to be caught in any crooked action; and while his acquaintances had an indefinite fear of dealing with him they could not accuse him openly.