“Beauty contest,” says everybody, crowding around. “You got them thousand votes and nobody to vote ’em for.... Handsomest man in Wicksville—”
“Huh!” says Old Mose. “And you lunatics come out here hopin’ to pry them votes out of me, eh? Thought you’d fool Old Mose Miller with pies and cakes, eh? Votes.... I’ll vote ye. If this here was the homeliest-man contest, nobody’d git them votes, I can tell ye. Vote ’em myself, then. Take study, though. Homeliest man in Wicksville. There’d be a contest! Everybody could git into it. Hain’t much to choose. Votes.... Jest stand there a minute, and don’t a one of you dast step on to my premises.”
He turned and went into the house. In a couple of jiffies he was back with his hands full of votes. The folks drew a long breath and crowded closer.
“Ye want votes, eh?” says he as he got to the fence. “Well, then, help yourselves.”
At that he began chucking handfuls of them into the faces of the crowd, and chuckling. Handful after handful he threw—and everybody began a scramble. It was the worst mix-up that ever happened within a hundred miles of Wicksville. Everybody was in it—and in it to get votes. I never saw such a tangle of human beings. I bet there wasn’t one of them could have sorted himself out and got his own arms and legs to save his life. And noise! It’s lucky it was so far out in the country. Squealing and gouging and kicking and scratching. My! my! And all the time Old Mose leaned over the fence to sic them on and chuckle. The air was full of votes and arms and legs and noises!
That sort of thing can’t keep up long, but it’s fine to watch while it keeps on. In two or three minutes folks began to feel around to find if they were all there and to scramble out of the mess. It didn’t take them long to get separated—and there they stood, everybody clutching a few votes in his hand and glaring at everybody else. Then all of a sudden it seemed like everybody got ashamed. A scurry for the buggies set in, and the whole crowd, still as anything and, I expect, wishing they hadn’t come, started off for town. The only folks who were pleased all the way through were Old Mose Miller and us fellows on top of the shed.
Mark Tidd was laughing that still laugh of his till I was afraid he’d roll off the roof.
“B-b-beauty contest!” says he.
“Don’t seem like folks would make such idiots of themselves over a contest that don’t make any difference to anybody!” I says.
Mark chuckled again.