“Mark,” says he, “is it a fact that Old Mose has got a thousand votes?”
“Yes,” says Mark. “He’s got ’em, all r-right.”
“Sort of an uncle of mine—Old Mose is,” says Chancy, and he grinned satisfied-like. “Blood’s thicker ’n water. Guess I’ll go out to see him.”
“I would,” says Mark. “If I was you I wouldn’t l-lose any time.”
Chancy was no sooner gone than Chet came in with the same question.
“Huh!” says he when Mark told him the rumor was so. “Thousand votes. That’ll about win this contest, won’t it?”
“Come p-pretty close,” says Mark.
“Then,” says Chet, “I got to have ’em. Got to! I’m goin’ out to see the old skeezicks. I’m goin’ this minnit.”
“Good idee,” says Mark. “But Old Mose is Chancy’s uncle. Know th-that? Blood’s thicker ’n water.”
“No sich thing,” says Chet. “There hain’t no sich hate as that between relatives. Chancy’s father and Old Mose had a row over their father’s will. Been hatin’ each other twenty-odd years. Chancy ’ll never count them votes, you listen to me.”