“Who’s elected?” asked Newton.
“Colonel Woodruff,” answered Mr. Peterson. “The vote was twelve to eleven.”
“Well, dad,” said Newton, “I s’pose you’ll be sore, but the only way I could see to get in half a vote for Colonel Woodruff was to get poisoned and send you after the doctor. If you’d gone, it would ’a’ been a tie, anyhow, and probably you’d ’a’ persuaded somebody to change to Bonner. That’s what’s the matter with me. I killed your vote. Now, you can do whatever you like to me—but I’m sorry I scared mother.”
Ezra Bronson seized Newton by the throat, but his fingers failed to close. “Don’t pinch, dad,” said Newton. “I’ve been using that neck an’ it’s tired.” Mr. Bronson dropped his hands to his sides, glared at his son for a moment and breathed a sigh of relief.
“Why, you darned infernal little fool,” said he. “I’ve a notion to take a hamestrap to you! If I’d been there the vote would have been eleven to thirteen!”
“There was plenty wotes there for the colonel, if he needed ’em,” said Haakon, whose politician’s mind was already fully adjusted to the changed conditions. “Ay tank the Woodruff District will have a junanimous school board from dis time on once more. Colonel Woodruff is yust the man we have needed.”
“I’m with you there,” said Bronson. “And as for you, young man, if one or both of them horses is hurt by the run I give them, I’ll lick you within an inch of your life—— Here comes Dilly driving ’em in now—— I guess they’re all right. I wouldn’t want to drive a good team to death for any young hoodlum like him—— All right, how much do I owe you. Doc?”