G'-by, Tilley. Hope the
meetin' comes out right to-morrer."
Scattergood went inside and looked at his bank book. In two months his
deposits from sales had amounted to something like a hundred dollars.
The situation spelled nothing less than bankruptcy, but Scattergood
replaced the book and waddled out to his piazza, where he sat in the
cool of the evening, twiddling his toes and looking from the store of
one competitor to the store of another, reflectively.
At a late hour a small boy named Newcamp delivered a bulky package to
Scattergood, and vanished into the darkness. The package was about large
enough to contain a timber leg.
The town seethed with politics next morning, and the deacon was in the
center of it. The meeting was called for ten o'clock. At nine thirty a
small boy wriggled up to the deacon and whispered in his ear. The deacon
quickly made his way out of the crowd and down the stairs into the
basement room under the barber shop--for news had been given him of a
chance to swap for votes. He burst into the room, and stopped, frowning,
for Tilley Newcamp stood before him. Hamilcar Jones was not at the
moment visible, because he was behind the door, which he slammed shut
and locked.
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