On the night of the election, Stover heard from his room in Lyceum the familiar:
"Oh, you Dink Stover—stick out your head."
"Hello there, Brocky; come up," he said anxiously. "Who got it?"
"Wiggin, of course. Come on down, I want a ramble."
It was the first time that Brockhurst had shown a longing for companionship. Stover returned into the room, announcing:
"Poor old chap. Wiggin got it. Isn't it the devil?"
"Wiggin—oh, Lord!" said Regan.
"Why, he's not fit to tie Brocky's shoe-strings," said Hungerford, who fired a volley of soul-relieving oaths.
"I'm going down to bum around a bit with him," said Stover, slipping on his coat, "cheer the old boy up."