“And you believed him.”
“No, I made him prove it. You said to check with the newspapers-Uncle Sam had me talk with the editor of the Herald.” Tom snorted.
“He means,” I told her, “that the Herald is part of the machine. I meant talk to reporters. Most of them are honest and all of them know the score. But I can’t see how you could be so green. I know you’ve been away, but didn’t you read the papers before the War?”
It developed that, what with school and the War, she hadn’t been around town much since she was fifteen. Mrs. Holmes broke in, “Why, she’s not eligible, Jack! She doesn’t have the residence requirements.”
I shook my head. “As a lawyer, I assure you she does. Those things don’t break residence-particularly as she enlisted here. How about making us all some coffee, Mrs. Holmes?”
Mrs. Holmes bristled; I could see that she did not want to fraternize with the enemy, but I took her arm and led her into the house, whispering as I went. “Don’t be hard on the kid, Molly. You and I made mistakes while we were learning the ropes. Remember Smythe?”
Smythe was as fine a stuffed shirt as ever took a bribe-we had given him our hearts’ blood. Mrs. Holmes looked sheepish and relaxed. We chatted about the heat and presidential possibilities, then Frances said, “I’m conceding nothing, Jack-but I’m going to pay for those papers.”
“Skip it,” I said. “I’d rather bang Tully’s heads together. But see here-you’ve got an hour yet; I want to show you something.”
“Want me along, Jack?” Tom suggested, looking at Frances.
“If you like. Thanks for the coffee, Mrs. Holmes-I’ll be back to clean up the mess.” We drove to Dr. Potter’s office and got the photostats we had on Jorgens out of his safe. We didn’t say anything; I just arranged the exhibits in logical order. Frances didn’t talk either, but her face got whiter and whiter. At last she said, “Will you take me home now, Mr. Ross?”
We bumped along for the next three weeks, chasing votes all day, licking stamps and stenciling autobumper signs late at night and never getting enough sleep. Presently we noticed a curious fact-McNye was coming up. First it was billboards and throwaways, next was publicity-and then we began to get reports from the field of precinct work for McNye.
We couldn’t have been more puzzled if the Republican Party had nominated Norman Thomas. We made another spot check. Mrs. Holmes and Dr. Potter and I went over the results. Ross and Nelson, neck and neck-a loss for Nelson; McNye a strong third and coming up fast. “What do you think, Mrs. Holmes?”
“The same you do. Tully has dumped Nelson and bought up McNye.”
Potter agreed. “It’ll be you and McNye in the runoff. Nelson is coasting on early support from the machine. She’ll fizzle.”
Tom had come in while we were talking. “I’m not sure,” he said. “Tully needs a win in the primary, or, if that fails, a run-off between the girl and McNye. We’ve got an organization, she hasn’t.”
“Tully can’t count on me running third. In fact, I’ll beat out Frances for second place at the very worst.”
Tom looked quizzical. “Seen tonight’s Herald, Jack?”
“No. Have they discovered I’m a secret drinker?”
“Worse than that.” He chucked us the paper.
“CLAIM ROSS INELIGIBLE COUNCILMANIC RACE” it read; there was a 3-col cut of my trailer, with me in the door. The story pointed out that a city father must have lived two years in the city and six months in his district. The trailer camp was outside the city limits.
Dr. Potter looked worried. “Can they disqualify you, Jack?”
“They won’t take it to court,” I told him. “I’m legal as baseball. Residence isn’t geographical location; it’s a matter of intent-your home is where you intend to return when you’re away. I’m registered at the flat I had before the War, but I turned it over to my partner when I went to Washington. My junk is still in it, but he’s got a wife and twins. Hence the trailer, a temporary exigency of no legal effect.”