“But you aren’t beaten yet, Uncle Doug,” Fanny exclaimed, resolutely.
“What difference does it make—now or two years from now? It’s only a question of time.”
Michael tapped on the door and entered with the soft step of one bearing important news. “A boy just come in with this telegram, sir.”
“Open it, Guy,” said Briggs.
Guy tore the envelope. “These are the figures Farley gave me,” he said. He passed the telegram to Briggs.
“It’s all up with me!” said Briggs, just as Helen appeared.
“But they haven’t heard yet from the Nineteenth District,” Guy interposed. “We can count on a two-hundred majority there.”
“No; West has spent more money there than anywhere else. I shall be surprised if—” Briggs stopped at the sound of the telephone bell. Guy darted for the receiver.
“Oh, hello, hello! Is that you, Farley? What? Oh, Bradley. This isn’t the Citizens’ Club, then? Oh, the Gazette! No, Farley isn’t here, but he’ll be here in a minute. He’s tearing over from the club in a cab. What district? The Nineteenth? We’ve been waiting for that. How many?”
Guy listened; they all listened. “Well, good-bye. Thank you. Good-bye. I’ll tell him.” Guy turned from the telephone and faced the others.