CHAPTER X

THE ELECTION

The people of Hardiston are early risers, and their hours of labor are long and strenuous. The coal miners--what few still find tasks to do in the ravaged hills--are up and about before day in the fall and winter months; the furnace workmen change shifts at unearthly hours; and the glass factory and the pipe works both begin their day when most folks are still abed.

To accommodate these early risers, the polls at Hardiston open at six. They stay open until four or five or six in the afternoon. The hour is left somewhat to the discretion of the election officials. If a heavy vote is cast early, so that an extra hour would mean only half a dozen votes added to the totals, they close the polls and begin their counting in time to get home to supper.

But if there is prospect of a close contest, the polls remain open till the last voter has been given his opportunity.

On this election day, the polls opened at six; and the election officials, particularly those representing the supporters of the elder Chase, went about their duties with a careless confidence. In the second precinct, the polling place was an unoccupied store on the second floor of a two-story building at the corner of Pearl Street and Broadway. The lower floor of this building was occupied by a dealer in monuments; and throughout the day the chink and tap of his chisel and maul never ceased their song. These sounds came up in a muffled fashion through the floor of the room where the votes were being cast.

The early voting here was light. Jim Thomas and Ed Howe were the principal election officers; and they sat with their chairs tilted back and their feet on the railing around a red-hot little iron stove while the trickle of voters came and went. Jim Thomas chewed tobacco, and Ed smoked. He smoked a pipe; and he whittled his tobacco from a black plug, thus identifying himself with the Caretall factions. Aside from the stove and their two chairs, the room contained only the voting paraphernalia. Three booths against the wall, with cloth curtains to divide them; two flat tables, each containing a list of the registered voters; and the ballot box itself, on the floor near the door where each voter deposited his ballot as he departed.

At seven o’clock--the little stove, by this time, had raised the temperature of the room to a stifling mark--Jim Thomas spat in a box of sawdust and grinned at Ed Howe. “Slow, Ed,” he said.

Ed puffed hard. He had a weakness of one eye, a weakness which allowed the lid to droop so that he seemed to be perpetually winking. He turned this winking eye to Jim. “Yeah,” he said.

“I guess Caretall is due to get his.”

“You reckon?” Ed inquired listlessly.

“I reckon.”

Ed grunted and smoked harder than ever.

At half past seven, the elder Chase himself dropped in. “Good morning, boys,” he called from the door. “Splendid day, now isn’t it?”

“Fine,” said Jim Thomas.

Chase produced cigars; he dispensed them graciously. Only Ed Howe refused the proffered smoke.

“Oh, come, Ed,” Chase insisted. “Don’t be afraid of hurting my feelings.”

“Never smoke ’em,” said Ed shortly.

“Want to vote once or twice?” Jim Thomas asked, grinning.

Chase chuckled. “I’ve cast my vote. Second ballot in my precinct, Jim.”

“Better chuck in a few more,” Jim advised. “Hollow’s running strong.” He said this seriously, but every one knew it was a joke. Even Ed Howe grinned.

Chase presently departed, still amiable and gracious. His visit had stimulated the imagination of Jim Thomas; and after a little while he rose and took his hat and went down to a group of men in the street outside. Ed looked out of the window curiously. He saw Jim go among the group, hat in hand, obviously taking up a collection. The man seemed to take the matter as a joke. But Jim was grave.

He came back up presently, hat in hand, and approached Ed. “Give up, Ed,” he invited. “A penny, a nickel, any little thing.”

Ed looked in the hat. He saw a button, a burnt match, a pebble, and a slice of tobacco. He grunted and puffed at his pipe. “Set down, Jim,” he invited. “Heat’s touched your head.”

Jim explained, in a hurt tone: “No, Ed, not a bit. Only--some of the boys thought we’d take up a collection and send downstairs for a tombstone for Hollow.”

Ed swung his head slowly and looked at Jim; and a slow grin broke across his countenance. “I declare,” he commented, “you’re a real joker, Jim.” Then he laughed a cackling laugh, wagged his head, and fell into silence again.

The second precinct was the most important in Hardiston. Its voters numbered half as many again as its next rival. And so the candidates gave it more than its share of attention that day. Chase came early and often. Each time he disseminated cigars and amiability. This was his day of glory; and he ate it with a relish, visibly smacking his lips.

Caretall and Gergue came together about eight o’clock in the morning. Amos had very little to say. He glanced at the voting lists, nodded to Ed Howe, called a greeting to Jim Thomas and departed. Peter Gergue remained for a time, scratching the back of his head and talking with those who came to vote.

Amos came back at noon, and as it happened, he met V. R. Kite at the voting place. Kite voted in this precinct, and he had just deposited his ballot when Amos arrived. The two men greeted each other amiably. Amos said: “Morning, Mr. Kite.”

“Good morning, Congressman.”

“Just voting?”

“Yes. Overslept.”

Amos winked. “I trust you voted right, V. R.”

Kite nodded briskly. “Right as rain, Congressman. You too?”

“Sure.”

Jim Thomas listened with frank interest. Now he found an opening for his joke. “You’d better drop in a few votes here, Congressman. Chase is running strong.”

Amos looked at him with interest. “You don’t say, Jim?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Well--how do you know, Jim?”

Thomas became faintly confused. “Oh, I can tell.”

“You ain’t been looking at the ballots, have you, Jim?”

Jim blustered. “Look-a-here--who you accusing?”

“You ain’t? Then you must be one of these mediums that can read a folded paper.”

“Oh, sugar! You go....”

Amos grinned. “Matter of fact, Jim, I wish I knowed you was right. I’m frank to say, Jim, that I got a bet on a horse named Chase to win.” Jim gasped, and Amos nodded soberly. “Yes, sir, Jim. You just hear me.”

Jim took a plug of tobacco from his pocket and tore at it with his teeth and stuffed it away again. The operation restored his composure. “Well, Congressman, you’d ought not to bet--and you a lawmaker.”

“It ain’t rightly a bet, Jim,” said Amos. “It’s a sure thing.” He turned toward the door. “Good aft’noon, Jim.”

The voting, beginning slow, had picked up during the noon hour. A steady stream of men came in throughout that period and when this stream subsided, four-fifths of the registered voters had cast their ballots. Ed Howe suggested: “Might as well close up shop at four, hadn’t we, Jim?”

“Sure,” said Jim. “They ain’t no real contest to-day anyway.”

“I reckon that’s right,” Ed agreed.

This was a quarter before two o’clock in the afternoon. At two o’clock, Caretall and Chase came face to face at the door of the voting room. They came in arm in arm; and Chase asked graciously: “Well, boys, how are things going?”

Jim Thomas reported briskly, “Fine, Mr. Chase. Most of the votes in. Ed and me’s figuring to close at four.”

Chase nodded. “I guess that’s safe. Don’t you think so, Amos?”

“Whatever you say, Chase,” Amos agreed. “Looks to me like the fight’s all over.”

It was observed at that time, however, that Congressman Caretall was strangely buoyant for a beaten man.

Chase and Caretall separated at the door, and Jim Thomas called to Ed Howe: “I’m going uptown and get me some dinner. I ain’t ate yet.”

“Go along,” Ed agreed.

Jim went along, overtaking the elder Chase, and they walked together along Pearl Street and up Main to the restaurant. Chase was quietly contented and exceedingly courteous and gracious to those whom they encountered; and for the first half of the journey, Jim basked in the great man’s smile.

It was at the corner of Main Street that the first fly dropped into Jim’s ointment. As they turned the corner, they encountered three men. One was V. R. Kite; another was old Thompson, crippled with rheumatism but fat with wealth, and a lifelong enemy of Chase; and the third was Thompson’s son, the shoe man.

Chase said: “Good afternoon, gentlemen,” to these men. Kite responded: “Afternoon!” Old Thompson grunted; and young Thompson said: “How do you do, Mr. Chase?” with entirely too much sweet deference in his tones. They passed the group, but when they had gone twenty yards, something prompted Jim Thomas to look around, and he detected the elder Thompson in the act of smiting his knee in a paroxysm of silent and malignant mirth.

Right then, Jim Thomas smelled a rat. He looked up at Chase, but Chase was blind and deaf. Jim started to speak, then thought better of it; and at the next corner, he left his chieftain and turned aside to the restaurant.

It seemed to him that Sam O’Brien, the fat proprietor of the place, grinned at him when he entered. He ordered a veal sandwich, and when it was ready for him, he doused it with mustard and ate it with sips of cold water between each mouthful. It was delicious, but his stomach was uneasy under it.

Sam was frankly grinning at him; and so Jim asked at length, in some desperation: “What’s the joke, Sam?”

Sam shook his head. “How’s the election going, Jim?”

“All Chase.”

Sam threw back his head. He was a fat man, and the mirth billowed out of him. He rocked, he slapped his knee. “All Chase!” he gasped. “All Chase! Oh, Jim! Oh, Jimmy man! All Chase!” He wiped tears from his eyes. “Jim, you’ll kill me!”

Jim snorted. He was thoroughly disturbed. Sam was a man whose finger touched the public pulse. Obviously, he knew something. Jim leaned across the counter. “What’s the joke, Sam? Come on--let me laugh, too.”

Sam waved his fat hands at his customer. “You go away, Jim. You go ’way. You’ll kill me.”

His chortles pursued Jim to the street. There Thomas paused, irresolute. What was he going to do? Warn Chase? Warn Chase’s cohorts? But what should he warn them about? He remembered suddenly that his place was beside the ballot box, and he turned and fairly ran down the street to the voting rooms. And it seemed to him that, as he sped, mirth pursued him.

But he found everything as he left it. Ed Howe still sat by the stove, still smoked. He looked up as Jim entered, and shifted his pipe in his mouth.

“Why, Jim!” he exclaimed in pretended dismay. “You’re all het up! You’re all of a stew! Jim--have you gone and seen a ghost?”

Jim Thomas glared at him. He had gone away from this place confident and calm; he returned in a turmoil of fear; and the worst of this fear was that he did not know what it was he feared. He glared at Howe.

“What you been up to whilst I was gone, Ed Howe?” he demanded.

Ed looked at him in surprise. “We-ell--I’ve smoked two pipes.”

Jim strode to the ballot box, shook it, stared into its slot as though to read its secret.

Ned Bentley came in. He wished to cast his vote, and proceeded to do so. As he was about to go, he paused for a moment on the threshold.

“Has anybody here seen Wint?” he asked.

It was the stressing of his words that startled Jim. This stress, the emphasis of the verb, suggested that they had been discussing Wint, or that Wint must be in all their thoughts. And Jim had not thought of Wint Chase for days.

“Why should we have seen Wint?” he demanded, and looked at Ed Howe. Ed was grinning.

Of a sudden, light burst on Jim Thomas. It was not all the truth that he guessed. But it was enough of it to make his head swim. Without a word, he leaped for the street and ran across to the hotel--where there was a telephone.

Ed Howe watched him go--and grinned. “I declare--Jim acts right crazy,” he drawled.

Jim came back presently, a grim set about his jaw. He had no word for any of them. But he went to the voting list and copied the names of those citizens who had not yet voted, and went to the telephone again. When he returned this time, it was five minutes to four o’clock.

Ed lounged up from his chair. “Well--we’ve ’greed to close the polls now. Go to counting....” He started for the door, as though to bolt it.

Jim Thomas sprang in front of him. Jim was mad. “Git back there, Ed Howe.”

Ed looked puzzled. “Why--what--”

“Yo’re tricky; but you ain’t won yet. Set down. Legal hour for closing is six. We’ll have some law here.”

“But we ’greed on four....”

“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?”