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.