“Fifteen—N-o-o!”
“Piatt?”
“Fifteen votes No!”
“Polk?”
The silence was absolute. Rankin and Pusey had been wrangling. Pusey announced the vote.
“Twenty-two Yeas and twenty-three Nays.”
There was cheering from the Sprague men and the gavel cracked.
“Tazewell?”
“Thirty votes—Aye!” shouted Carlin, one of Joe Hale’s men, drawing out the affirmative unctuously. He was thinking of Joe’s job.
Then, while the convention awaited the result, Hale figured painfully. Rankin stepped up to help him. The Sprague men howled an objection and Randolph advanced to a place near the secretary. But Hale figured under the shelter of his palm. When he had done, he handed the slip up to the chairman. Bailey examined it attentively an instant, a long instant, then the convention grew impatient and cried: