“No,” he replied—“I don’t tell none.”
“But you tell your wife,” said I.
He shook his head again, and his smile was broader and his eyes more cunning than ever.
“Surely she wants to know,” I exclaimed.
“Ah—she may want to know, but that ain’t my tellin’ her—is it?”
Then I suddenly realised what a glorious weapon he possessed. A weapon which, when everything else—even intelligence—failed, would make him master in his own house.
“That must give you a splendid sense of importance in your own home,” said I—“Don’t they think you’re a fine fellow?”
“P’raps they do.”
“And all because you’ve got the mystery of a vote.”
“I can’t think of no other reason,” said he.