“Shut up!”

Ed lounged back in his chair. “Well--in that case--I got time for another smoke.” He filled his pipe and began it.There followed a hectic two hours. Hardiston had never seen anything like it, anything even approaching it. Every automobile that could be mustered by the Chase forces was mustered. Every livery stable in town hitched up its most ramshackle team. Even the funeral hacks were pressed into service. Fenney’s motor truck brought two loads of men from the glass factory. Even Bob Dyer’s old tandem bicycle came into use.

And when the elder Chase met Congressman Caretall in front of the Post Office at half past five, he refused to speak to him. It was open war, with no quarter asked or given. The joke was out, and the Congressman’s men were enjoying it in anticipation. They exulted openly; they gathered at the polling places to watch the voters whom the Chase workers dragged thither. They cheered these workers on, praised them, encouraged them, made bets on their success.

It was a hectic two hours, and it lived long in Hardiston annals. But it had to end. When the town clock struck six, the polls closed. And at every precinct in town, the strain relaxed and took, forthwith, the form of hunger. Unanimously, the election officials sat down with the unopened ballot boxes on a table, in plain view of the world, and sent out for supper. Around the ballot boxes, they ate their sandwiches. Jim Thomas ate in grim silence, iron-jawed and moody. Ed Howe had recovered his spirits. He was urbane, gracious. He even gave a fair imitation of the manner of the elder Chase, at which all but Jim Thomas managed to smile.

In the morning, Jim had been jubilant and Ed had been moody and still; but now the rôles were reversed. It was remarked afterward that no one had guessed Ed Howe had it in him; and his imitation of the elder Chase distributing cigars was destined to make him famous. But this had to end, too. There came a time when the ballot boxes had to be opened. The tally sheets were prepared, pencils were sharpened, the boxes were unlocked; and at a quarter past eight o’clock, Jim Thomas lifted the first ballot from the box and unfolded it. He looked at it; and a red flood poured over his face, and his jaw stiffened. But it was his duty to call the vote, and he called it: “For Mayor--Chase!” He was still staring at the ballot, and it did not need Ed Howe’s mild question to confirm his guess at Congressman Caretall’s coup. What Ed asked was simply: “Which Chase, Jim?”

CHAPTER XI THE NOTIFICATION

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