"There are enough men to put it down," said Bowman, quickly. "And it can come to a vote in Town Meeting next September, if it's worked up right."
"Oh, Frank! Can we do that?"
"Now you've said it!" crowed the engineer. "That's what I meant when I wondered if you had begun your campaign."
"My campaign?" repeated Janice, much flurried.
"Why, yes. You intimated the other night that you wanted the bar closed, and Walky has told all over town that you're 'due to stir things up,' as he expresses it, about this dram selling."
"Oh, dear!" groaned Janice, in no mock alarm. "My fatal reputation!
If my friends really loved me they would not talk about me so."
"I'm afraid there is some consternation under Walky's talk," said Bowman, seriously. "He likes a dram himself and would be sorry to see the bar chased out of Polktown. I hope you can do it, Janice."
"Me—me, Frank Bowman! You are just as bad as any of them. Putting it all on my shoulders."
"The time is ripe," went on the engineer, seriously. "You won't be alone in this. Lots of people in the town see the evil flowing from the bar. Mrs. Thread tells me her brother would never have lost his job with Massey if it hadn't been for Lem Parraday's rum selling."
"Do you mean Jack Besmith?" cried Janice, startled.