Not only did these young men vie with each other in the pursuit of votes, but in the purchase of apparel. If Bogardus imported a yellow silk necktie made more beautiful by inch-broad polka dots of green, Bangs answered the challenge with patent-leather shoes with gray cloth tops cross-hatched with mauve.... Each spent his substance in riotous garments, and neither neglected, at the busy hour in the post office, to take up his station before the door, full in the public eye, to enable the populace to scrutinize and to admire. It was a campaign such as no political election ever had brought to Gibeon.
Yesterday, Carmel learned from Tubal, it had come to personal conflict. As the pair of candidates occupied their stations, each on his side of the post-office door, Bogardus had spoken in a manner highly derogatory of a new hat displayed by his rival for the first time. It was a hat of Leghorn straw, wide and floppy of brim. The under side of this brim was lined with green cloth, either for decorative purposes or to soften the light reflected to the eyes. About the crown was folded a scarf, and the colors in this scarf were such as to detain the eye even as the sound of an ambulance gong takes possession of the ear. It was a master stroke. It quite upset Bogardus to the extent that he forgot the amenities and, sotto voce, asked the world to tell him where Lancelot Bangs got hold of the merry-go-round he was wearing on his head. “All it needs, by Jove!” said George in his best British manner, “to make a feller know it’s a merry-go-round is to have Lance’s brain start playin’ a hurdy-gurdy tune. Eh? What?”
Battle ensued, and spectators estimated that no less than forty dollars’ worth of haberdashery was destroyed by the fury of it. The gladiators were torn apart—but not until Gibeon had enjoyed the spectacle to the full. But the spark was lighted. Rivalry had grown to jealousy; now jealousy had become hatred. In the hearts of each of these Beau Brummels burned a fire of malice.... Each was now determined, in some manner or another, to eliminate his rival.
Presently George Bogardus peered through the office door and, seeing Carmel, entered, bringing with him a sartorial effulgence overpowering. He rested his malacca cane against the rail, pulled down his lavender waistcoat, straightened his tie, lifted his hat, and bowed from the waist.
“Miss Lee,” he said, “aw—I say, now—d’you mind if I have a bit of a word with you. Eh? What?”
“Certainly, Mr. Bogardus. What can I do for you?”
“It’s private. I—aw—fawncy you wouldn’t wish to be overheard. Not by a darn sight you wouldn’t.”
“Come in, then, and sit here. No one will overhear us.”
He passed the gate and took the indicated chair, leaning his elbow on Carmel’s desk and pointing the tip of his long and almost prehensile nose at her most convenient ear.
“Nothin’ was said in the rules of this here contest,” said he, “aw—about the character of the—aw—contestants.”