“We've not got a candidate. It's too late to get the party together. New tickets'd have to be printed. I—”
“Will you accept the candidature?” Reading the man at once, Roberts turned to the others: “Gentlemen, I hope some one will second me; I nominate Mr. Simpson as Mayor, and propose that his name should be substituted for that of Mr. Hutchings. To show that I'm in earnest I'll contribute five hundred dollars towards the expense of printing the tickets.”
The Professor's offer of money seemed to exercise a magical influence upon the crowd; the loud tones, the provocative rudeness of speech and bearing, disappeared at once; the men began to show him the respect of attention, and Mr. Simpson was even quicker than the rest in changing his attitude—perhaps because he hoped to gain more than they did.
“I had no idee,” he began, “but if the Committee thinks I oughter run I've no objection. I hain't ever cared for office, but I'm a party-man, an' what the party wants me to do I'll do every time. I'm a Democrat right through. I guess Lawyer Hutchin's has gone back on us, but that's not your fault, Professor, and five hundred dollars—an' your work will do a pile. The folk all like you an'—respect you an'—”
Roberts looked at the man; his offer had been a movement of indignant contempt, and yet it had succeeded. He could have laughed; the key to the enigma was in his hands; these men answered to the motive of self-interest as a ship answers to the helm, and yet—how revolting it all was! The next moment he again banished reflection.
“I'll go and get the money, and return as soon as possible. In the meantime, perhaps you, Mr. Simpson, will see that the printing is begun without delay. Then if you'll tell us what polling-stations need superintendence, my friends and I will do our best.”
The appeal found an immediate response—in a few minutes order and energetic work had taken the place of the former angry excitement and recrimination.
To Professor Roberts the remainder of the day was one whirl of restless labour; he hastened from one polling-station to another, and when the round was completed drove to the Central Rooms, where questions had to be answered, and new arrangements made without time for thought. Then he was off again on his hurried round as canvasser. One incident, however, made a definite impression upon him. Returning for the second or third time to the Central Rooms he found himself in a crowd of Irish labourers who had come in deference to priestly bidding to record their votes. Mr. Hutchings' retirement had excited their native suspiciousness; they felt that they had been betrayed, and yet the peremptory orders they had received must be followed. The satisfaction of revolt being denied to them, their anger became dangerous. Professor Roberts faced them quietly; he soon saw that they were sincere, or were playing the part of sincerity; he therefore spoke for the cause, for the party to which they belonged; surely they wouldn't abandon the struggle because a leader had deserted them! His words and manner; his appeal to their combativeness; his earnestness and good temper were successful. The storm of invective gradually subsided, and although one or two, for the sake of a row, sought to insult him, they did not go to extremes in face of the resolute disapprobation of the American party-leaders. Loyalty to their shibboleth was beginning to draw them, still grumbling and making use of expressive imprecations, on the way to the nearest polling-station, when one of their leaders drew Professor Roberts aside, and asked him:
“Are the bhoys to have nothin' for their throuble? Half a day they'll lose, so they will—a dollar each now would be no more than fair—”
The Professor shook his head; he was not rich, he said, and had already spent more money in the contest than he could afford.