“Scat!” he yelled, looking around scared-like. “Scat!”
Well, that reminded folks of the cat. Mrs. Bloom spoke up and says:
“Mr. Miller, I got the cunnin’est kitten to home. I set a heap of store by it, but knowin’ how fond you be of cats I dun’no’ but I’d be willin’ to give it to you—”
She never got any farther because everybody in the crowd—and there were twenty if there was one—set up a yell about their kittens. A couple of folks actually had brought cats along and held them up in the air for Old Mose to see.
The old man just took one look and let his pail of water go swoosh right into the crowd. Pretty lucky it had time to cool, but it was just as wet as ever. You never saw such a mess! Chet and Chancy got first choice of it, but everybody got all he had any use for. Those two young fellows, though, looked like they had taken their Sunday baths with their clothes on. Nobody waited. Everybody decided he wanted to be somewhere else, and they scattered like a bunch of quail when you walk into the middle of them.
Old Mose began yelling after them. Then he charged through the gate in pursuit, and first off he grabbed Chancy.
“Hey, you,” says he, giving him a shake that must have loosened his curly hair, “what’s this about, anyhow? What’s the reason everybody in Wicksville’s pesterin’ around my front door? Eh? What’s the reason?” He gave Chancy another shake. “Out with it. What’s fetched this gang of lunatics here? Tell me ’fore I shake the ears off’n you.”
Chancy choked and coughed and got his voice.
“Votes,” says he in a sort of husky whisper.
“Votes?” says Old Mose. “What votes?”