The judge passed a paper to Taylor; it was one of those that had been delivered to the judge by Carrington.
The judge did not meet Taylor’s eyes.
“You’ll find a full statement of the case, there,” he said. “Briefly, however, the governor finds that your name did not appear on the ballots.”
Norton, who had been standing at Taylor’s side all along, now shoved his way to the railing and leaned over it, his face white with wrath.
“There’s something wrong here, Judge Littlefield!” he charged. “Taylor’s name was on every ballot that was counted for him. I personally examined every ballot!”
The judge smiled tolerantly, almost benignantly.
“Of course—to be sure,” he said. “Mr. Taylor’s name appeared on a good many ballots; his friends wrote it, with pencil, and otherwise. But the law expressly states that a candidate’s name must be printed. Therefore, obeying the letter of the law, the governor has ruled that Mr. Taylor was not elected.” There was malicious satisfaction in Judge Littlefield’s eyes as they met Taylor’s. Taylor could see that the judge was in entire sympathy with the influences that were opposing him, though the judge tried, with a grave smile, to create an impression of impartiality.
“Under the governor’s ruling, therefore,” he continued, “and acting under explicit directions from the attorney-general, I am empowered to administer the oath of office to the legally elected candidate, David Danforth. Now, if Mr. Danforth is in the courtroom, and will come forward, we shall conclude.”
Mr. Danforth was in the courtroom; he was sitting near Carrington; and he came forward, his face slightly flushed, with the gaze of every person in the room on him.
He smiled apologetically at Taylor as he reached the railing, extending a hand.