There was a ring at the front door, and a telegram was brought in.
"Read it, Peggy," said the senator. He used that name only when moved about something. The despatch was from the senator's youngest son, Hannibal, and read:
Do not worry; we are singing Bispham up a tree.
"And Aladdin wrote the song!" cried Margaret. "Aladdin wrote it!"
The senator's face clouded for a moment. He forced the cloud to pass.
"We must thank him," he said. "We must thank him."
Senator St. John was reëlected by a small majority. Everybody admitted that it was due to Aladdin O'Brien's song. It was impossible to disguise the engaging childishness of the vote.
