"What do you think of the election?" I asked the Man In The Gutter. "Have you made any wagers or aren't you Barton on the outcome?"

He leaned on his brush and gazed reflectively into his cart. "Take me," he said. "I can handle horses and donkeys, but I don't like elephants. A new broom always sweeps clean, and what this country needs is a fore-and-aft rigged feed-bag that will get the horses going as well as coming."

"That's Simpson else altogether," I said, "and I don't Farley you. Do you think Willkie will win or Luce?"

"Willkie is a dark quadruped who wants to go back to the horse and buggy days. I make my living cleaning up on the horses, and I predict Willkie will sweep Maine, Vermont, and the Business School."

I shifted my tactics. "Dever see a dream walking? We're all Browders under the skin and we can't Ford to sit on the fence. Norris the time for all good men to come to the aid of their party. But what party? Whom Dewey want in the White House?"

"The automobile has ruined my business," he said slowly. "Teddy Roosevelt and his Rough Riders were God's gift to the whitewing. But Frank can shovel it too."

"A Democrat, eh?" I pressed him. "The Hurley bird is worth two in the Bushnell. Or do you think if Willkie wins it will all come out in the Walsh?"

"That's a horse of a different color," he replied. "I pick up quite a bit of inside dope in my line, and I predict a photo finish. So long. I've got to go see a man about the north end of a south bound Percheron." Hu Flung Huey's Big Four Roosevelt  over  Willkie Saltonstall  over  Dever Harvard  over  Yale Babson  over  my dead body