"Bob come home, Mrs. Pouncey?" he asked the old dame.
"Not yet, sir, and I do hope he won't be late, for I've got as tender a loin of young pig as ever I've roasted."
"Capital! I'm ravenous, I always am. It's a disease, Mrs. Pouncey. Don't I show it in my face?"
"Bless your heart, sir, your face does me good: it do look so happy!"
"Happy thoughts, old dear. I've had a particularly happy thought all the morning, and it shines out on my ingenuous countenance. Some folks never show anything, you know. My friend Templeton, now—ah! here he is! Roast pork, Bob—hurry up!"
IV
After early supper that evening, Eves and Templeton, giving each an arm to Mrs. Pouncey, set off for the Literary Institute. The good woman was greatly excited at the prospect of giving her vote for the first time next day, and had announced her intention of voting for "the gentleman," whereupon Eves had reproached her, with well-assumed severity.
"That is not the right spirit, I am sure of it," he said. "You are going to exercise for the first time the priceless privilege, or right, or duty, of the franchise: a most solemn responsibility, Mrs. Pouncey. Yet you have made up your mind to vote for 'the gentleman' without considering what views he professes, and without hearing the other side, which may be one of Nature's gentlemen."
"I like 'em best bred, same as pig," said Mrs. Pouncey, stoutly.
"I don't dispute your taste," returned Eves, "but I think you owe it to the principle of fair play at least to hear what the other fellow may have to say. This is your last chance: to-morrow is the fatal day: like the man in the poem, you must make up your mind between truth and falsehood, 'twixt the good and evil side."