“Well, I'm willin' ef the rest are,” announced Bar-tell. “All in favor hold up yore hands.”
Pole Baker grinned broadly as he counted them. “All up—the last one,” he said, then he sprang for the door and stood before the expectant audience.
“Toot! toot!” he cried, imitating the whistle of a locomotive. “All aboard! The road's a settled thing. They say they don't want no specks, an' they ain't agoin' to have 'em. Hooray!”
The audience was electrified by the announcement. For an instant there was a pause of incredulous astonishment, and then the floor resounded from the clatter of feet and glad shouts filled the air.
Alan, his face ablaze with startled triumph, came towards Adele and Miller. “Pole worked the rabbit-foot on them back there,” he said. “I don't know what he did, but he did something.”
“He told me he had a card left,” laughed Miller. “I 'll bet he had it up his sleeve. There he is now. Oh, Pole, come here!”
The man thus addressed slouched down the aisle to them, his big, brown eyes flashing merrily under his heavy brows, his sun-browned face dark with the flush of triumph.
“Out with it, you rascal,” said Alan. “What did you say to them? Whatever it was it knocked their props clean from under them.”
“Ef you don't back me in it, I'm a gone dog,” said Pole to Alan. “All I want you to do is to vote for Bartell, ef you kin possibly swallow the dose.”
A light broke on the two men. “I 'll do it if you say so, Pole,” said Alan. “Not only that, but I 'll work for him if you wish it.”