The opposing party had, early in the campaign, strengthened their cause by dropping the man who had represented and neglected them for so many years, and chosen as their candidate the much more redoubtable Otis Swigger, proprietor of the Canada House, a director of the Witney bank, and the holder of many mortgages. Oat was a good “cusser”; he always had a chew of tobacco for any one amiable enough to listen to his anecdotes; he was generally conceded to be an enlightened citizen; and he was a typical product of his district. Moreover, he was popular enough to enlist the support of many Progressives, who had decided not to put up a candidate of their own.
For Louise, whose erratic ways of arriving at conclusions in no sense invalidated the accuracy of the conclusions arrived at, the factor which made Oat Swigger a dangerous opponent was that she had, for her own reasons, decided not to invite him and Minnie to what the Valley referred to as her “high-toned house-warming”. In the drug-store Minnie had tried to pass her without speaking, her chalky chin very high in the air. Louise had grasped Minnie’s shoulder, with a smile on her lips but a glint in her eye, and said, “You’re getting near-sighted Minnie. How are you?”
“Oh, I’m all right, Smarty!” Minnie had retorted, and broken away. “Never better in my life!” she flung back.
“For God’s sake touch wood!” Louise had screamed after her, with a wink for the man behind the counter. “You’re going to vote for us, I hope,” she said to him.
“Sure thing!” he agreed.
It was with these discoveries bubbling in her mind that she sought out Keble to present a hasty report before the “monster meeting” in the Valley town hall.
Keble and Miriam seemed to have taken stock of most of the points she had observed, but they had thought of nothing as good as the satirical counters which leaped to her tongue, and in the short interval before the meeting, Keble jotted down hints.
Of the three, Louise was the only one who was seized with misgivings when Pat Goard came to say that the hall was full and it was time to go on the platform. She held Keble back for a moment. “Do let me speak too,” she pleaded.
Keble laughed and she saw a glance pass between him and Miriam which seemed to say, “That incurable theatricality cropping out again!”
“I’m afraid there’s no room on the program,” he said.