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 'Northfield Forever' with us? We want it to be your song as well as ours."

Many there scarcely knew the words—but they had caught the spirit. The deep voices of the men, the clear, rising notes of the women, sent a thrill of emotion through Praska's veins. Then it was over, and the audience was out of the seats and flowing down the aisles toward the doors. Northfield had told its story. The campaign was over. It rested for the morrow to write a verdict of victory—or defeat.

Election day brought to Praska a restless spirit and a profound depression. Now that there was nothing to do but to wait and hope, a dozen doubts and fears assailed his mind. After all, the arguments that had been so bravely given in the auditorium were but the opinions of boys and girls. Last night they had seemed logical and all-sufficient; to-day they seemed hollowly futile and lifeless. Boys and girls attempting to influence the opinions of mature men and women! From the bleak outlook of to-day the whole campaign took on the mask of brazen madness, a youthful, impetuous, but impotent masquerade.

And yet even in his darkest moments, the thrill that had come to him on the stage ran through him anew. Then and there, some sixth sense