“You mean that this town shall be ‘New Constantinople?’” was the inquiring remark of the landlord.
“Precisely; and I now make the motion that that be our name.”
There were seventeen persons present and it looked as if a decision was inevitable. The landlord was shrewd. His first act was to invite all to drink at his expense, after which he made each pledge himself to abide by the decision, whatever it might be. These preliminaries being arranged, a show of hands was called for. The vote was eight for and eight against the new name.
“That’s a tie,” commented the landlord from behind his immense beard; “and therefore the question ain’t settled.”
“It’s easy ’nough to settle it,” said Ike Hoe.
“How?”
“Take another vote.”
“I don’t see how that’ll do it, onless some one 13 changes his mind; but again, gentlemen: all who favor the new name, raise their right hands.”
Eight horny palms were elevated in air, while the same number were displayed in the negative. The landlord looked troubled.
“We must keep it up till some one weakens,” observed Wade Ruggles.