“L-ladies and gentlemen,” says Mark, “both ladies says their c-count agrees with mine. Both m-makes their n-number f-four hunderd and f-f-forty-six. I guess that shows this contest was on the s-square. If it wasn’t d’you think I’d ’a’ dared stand up here and announce it was a tie?”
“Don’t see how you dared, anyhow,” yelled Uncle Ike Bond. “I wouldn’t ’a’ done it for a farm.”
“What we goin’ to do?” says Mrs. Strubber. “We can’t leave this here undecided now. The town wouldn’t never git over it. Somebody got to be the champeen.”
“You bet,” says Mrs. Bobbin, “and the Home Culturers has got to be it. I guess our husbands hain’t goin’ to stand around and let us git done out of our rights.”
“I guess ourn hain’t either,” says Mrs. Strubber, and right there it sure looked like the furniture was going to get busted.
Then Mark got an idea.
“L-ladies,” says he, “I got a way out of it. T-there’s a man here that hain’t subscribed. Git him up here, and let them two clubs argue him into t-takin’ a subscription, and the side that gits him wins.”
They thought that over a minute, and then agreed.
“Who’s the man?” says all of them at once.
“Uncle Ike Bond,” says Mark, with a little grin. “He’s just got home from a visit.”