My man looked at me as if I had offered him an affront. The supposition was plainly inadmissible. He was completely innocent of the charge.
“You hear those men pounding away up the hill?” he demanded, jerking his thumb in the direction indicated.
“Yes.”
“Well, those are the five hundred voters. On election morning they came to the polling-place with a ballot in one hand, and a pick, a sledge, or a drill in the other. Our supervisor is a very honest, blunt sort of man: he refused their ballots on the spot.”
“Well?”
“Well, one of them had a can of nitro-glycerine and a coil of wire. He deposited his can in a corner, hitched on the wire, and was going out with his comrades, when the supervisor, feeling nervous, said,
“‘The polls are open, gentlemen.’”
“Ingenious,” remarked George.
The man looked astounded.