He had long known it would be so and had resolved to accept the "popular mandate." But the gleam of those greedy eyes, the grate of that greedy, gloating laughter, was too horrible. "I can't let things go to hell like this!" he muttered—and he leaned toward Driggs and said in an undertone, "I've changed my mind. Carry out my original programme."
Driggs suddenly straightened himself, and his face changed from gloom to delight, then sobered into alert calmness. Gradually the victors quieted down. "Close the polls!" called Duncan. "Nobody else is going to vote."
"Before closing the polls, Mr. Chairman," said Driggs, "or, rather, before the proxies offered by Mr. Fosdick are accepted, I wish to ask Mr. Wolcott a question." And he turned toward young Wolcott, a distant relative and henchman of Duncan's and one of the three men in whose names stood all the "new-broom" proxies.
"How old are you, Mr. Wolcott, please?"
Wolcott stared at him, glanced at Hugo, at Duncan, grinned. "None of your business," drawled he. "I may say none of your damn business."
Driggs smiled blandly, turned to the chairman. "As a policy holder in the O.A.D.," he said gently, "I ask that all the proxies on which the name of Howard C. Wolcott appears be thrown out."
Duncan and Hugo sprang up. "What kind of trick is this?" shouted Duncan at Armstrong.
Armstrong seemed not to be listening, was idly twisting his slender gold watch guard round his forefinger.
"By the constitution of the association," proceeded Driggs, "proxies given to anyone under thirty years of age or to any committee any of whose members is under thirty years are invalid. I refer you to Article nine, Section five."
"But Wolcott's over thirty," bawled Duncan.