“Because I want to make sure.”
Dick carried his point.
“Brad,” he whispered in Buckhart’s ear, without looking toward his roommate, “I want you to put back those two votes. Put them back, or I shall have to expose you!”
The Texan turned like chalk. His hands shook a little, and the counting went on.
“By George, we were wrong!” said Stanton, as they finished. “Arlington has one hundred and twenty-five! He wins by one vote.”
“Correct,” said Merriwell, and he gave the figures to the chairman, whose announcement of the result was followed by a mighty cheer for the victor.
CHAPTER XIII—THE PROMPTINGS OF CONSCIENCE
Brad Buckhart disappeared at once. When Dick reached his room he found Brad there, sitting like a wooden image and staring at the wall.
“Well, old man,” said Dick pleasantly, “that was what I call a hot meeting.”
The Texan did not stir. From his appearance, it did not seem that he was aware Dick had entered the room.