“There’s Pike, and Letcher, and Magoffin!” whispered Gincy excitedly.
“And Floyd, and Knott, and Breathitt!” added Talitha.
“Perry, Harlan, Leslie, and—Oh, look at Clay! Goody! Goody!” Mallie almost lost her balance and fell into the crowd below. Nancy Jane pulled her back and kept a firm grip on the excited girl for some time.
“It’s awfully interesting!” sighed Lalla, her eyes growing bigger as she watched the platform. “But I suppose the congress itself will be twice as exciting.”
There were funny speeches from the candidates, each vying with the other in promising favour to his particular section of the country. The applause was frequent, and the college band played “Dixie.” Every one filed out full of enthusiasm; they would know the result of the election by evening.
Lalla and Gincy walked over to Memorial Hall behind Abner and Martin. There was a grand rally out in front—practising yells and singing class songs. The noise was deafening.
“I’m saving my voice until Friday night,” Lalla told Abner in the first lull. “I know you’re going to beat and then you’ll hear me yell!”
Gincy smiled happily. “Abner’s going to do his best; that’s the main thing. I’m proud to think he’s even got a chance to do it, without his beating.”
“Of course it’s an honour to have the chance,” said Lalla, “but, Gincy, just think how proud Goose Creek will be to have Abner come home with the medal.”
In spite of himself Abner flushed with pleased anticipation. He was making the fight of his life for a public honour and did not intend to be beaten. Every word of his speech was photographed upon his brain, ready for instant use, if—and here was the hard part—if his opponent did not think of some entirely new line of argument.