“Nah!” said McGeehee scornfully.
Newton reassured Mrs. Simms, and went away pensive. He was in rebellion against the strange ways grown men have of discharging their duties as citizens—a rather remarkable thing, and perhaps a proof that Jim Irwin’s methods had already accomplished much in preparing Newton and Raymond for citizenship. He had shown them the fact that voting really has some relation to life. At present, however, the new wine in the old bottles was causing Newton to forget his filial duty, and his respect for his father. He wished he could lock him up in the barn so he couldn’t go to the school election. He wished he could become ill—or poisoned with blue vitriol or something—so his father would be obliged to go for a doctor. He wished——well, why couldn’t he get sick. Mrs. Simms had been about to send for the doctor for Buddy when he had explained away the apparent necessity. People got dreadfully scared about poison—— Newton mended his pace, and looked happier. He looked very much as he had done on the day he adjusted the needle-pointed muzzle to his dog’s nose. He looked, in fact, more like a person filled with deviltry, than one yearning for the right to vote.
“I’ll fix him!” said he to himself.
“What time’s the election, Ez?” asked Mrs. Bronson at breakfast.
“I’m goin’ at four o’clock,” said Ezra. “And I don’t want to hear any more from any one”—looking at Newton—“about the election. It’s none of the business of the women an’ boys.”
Newton took this reproof in an unexpectedly submissive spirit. In fact, he exhibited his very best side to the family that morning, like one going on a long journey, or about to be married off, or engaged in some deep dark plot.
“I s’pose you’re off trampin’ the slews at the sight of a flock of ducks four miles off as usual?” stated Mr. Bronson challengingly.
“I thought,” said Newton, “that I’d get a lot of raisin bait ready for the pocket-gophers in the lower meadow. They’ll be throwing up their mounds by the first of April.”
“Not them,” said Mr. Bronson, somewhat mollified, “not before May. Where’d you get the raisin idee?”
“We learned it in school,” answered Newton. “Jim had me study a bulletin on the control and eradication of pocket-gophers. You use raisins with strychnine in ’em—and it tells how.”