Pusey sat quietly tracing his mysterious figures on the floor with the point of his little stick.
Rankin had paused by Hale’s table where Cowley sat. Rankin smiled down on the correspondent.
“Case o’ buy, heh?” he said. “What?”
Cowley shrugged his shoulders expressively, like a foreigner.
“What?” Rankin repeated, his teeth showing in a broad significant grin.
Hale had written the result on a slip of paper and passed it up to Bailey. The Singed Cat took it, and studied it.
“On this ballot,” he began presently, “there have—been cast—one hundred and sixty-five votes; necessary—to a choice, eighty-three. Of these Mr. Garwood—has—received—seventy, Mr. Sprague—forty-eight, and General Barrett forty-seven. No candidate—having received—the necessary number—of votes, there has been—no nomination—and you will, therefore—prepare your votes—for another ballot.”
“Mr. Chairman,” Rankin said, with a promptness that recognized the change in the situation.
“The gentleman—from Polk.”
“Mr. Chairman, I move that the convention do now adjourn until to-morrow morning at nine o’clock.”