The politician responded to Toby's extravagantly friendly laughter with some mechanical cachinnations which, like an obliging salesman, he turned on and off with no effort. “Not by a dern sight!” he answered. “The campaign ain't begun yet.”
“Champagne?” inquired Tobigli politely.
“Campaign, campaign,” explained Pixley. “Not much champagne in yours!” he chuckled beneath his breath. “Blame lucky to git Chicago bowl!”
“What is that, that campaign?”
“Why—why, it's the campaign. Workin' up public sentiment; gittin' you boys in line, 'lect-ioneerin'—fixin' it right.”
Tobigli shook his head. “Campaign?” he repeated.
“Why—Gee, you know! Free beer, cigars, speakin', handshaking, paradin'—”
“Ahaha!” The merchant sprang to his feet with a shout. “Yes! Hoor-r-ra! Vote a Republican! Dam-a Democrat!”
“That's it,” replied the committee-man somewhat languidly. “You see, this is a Republican precinct, and it turns the ward—”
“Allaways a Republican!” vociferated Pietro. “That eesa right?”