There was a tense silence.
Milt took his pipe from his mouth. "My brother Angus," he began,
dramatically, girding himself for the effort--for Milt was an orator of
Twelfth of July fame--"Angus Kennedy, my brother, bred and reared, and
reared and bred, in the principles of Conservatism, as my poor old
father often says, has gone over--has deserted our banners, has steeped
himself in the false teachings of the Grits. Angus, my brother," he
concluded, impressively, "is--not right!"
"What's wrong with him?" asked Jim Grover, who was of an analytical
turn of mind.
"Too late to discuss that now!" broke in the Secretary; "we cannot
trace Angus's downfall, but we can send out and get in John Thomas. We
need his vote--it's just as good as anybody's."
Jimmy Rice volunteered to go out and get him. Jimmy did not believe in
leaving anything to chance. He had been running an auto all week and
would just as soon work at night as any other time. Big Jack Moore,
another enthusiastic Conservative, agreed to go with him.
When they made the ten-mile run to the home of the apostate Angus, they
met him coming down the path with a lantern in his hand on the way to
feed his horses.
They, being plain, blunt men, unaccustomed to the amenities of election
time, and not knowing how to skilfully approach a subject of this kind,
simply announced that they had come for John Thomas.
"He's not here," said Angus, looking around the circle of light that
the lantern threw.
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