On the way to town, roused by the night air, John Thomas became
communicative.
"Them lads in the automobile, they wanted me pretty bad, you bet," he
chuckled, with the conscious pride of the much-sought-after; "but gosh,
Angus fixed them. He just slammed down the cellar door on me, and says
he, 'Not a word out of you, Jack; you've as good a right to vote the
way you want to as anybody, and you'll get it, too, you bet.'"
The reformed Liberal knitted his brows. What was this simple child of
nature driving at?
John Thomas rambled on: "Tom Brown can't fool people with brains, you
bet you--Angus's woman explained it all to me. She says to me, 'Don't
let nobody run you, Jack--and vote for Hastings. You're all right,
Jack--and remember Hastings is the man. Never mind why--don't bother
your head--you don't have to--but vote for Hastings.' Says she, 'Don't
let on to Milt, or any of his folks, or Grandpa, but vote the way you
want to, and that's for Hastings!'"
When they arrived in town the reformed Liberal took John Thomas at once
to the Conservative Hotel, and put him in a room, and told him to go to
bed, which John cheerfully did. Then he went for the Secretary, who was
also in bed. "I've got John Thomas," he announced, "but he says he's a
Grit and is going to vote for Hastings. I can't put a dint in him--he
thinks I'm a Grit, too. He's only got one idea, but it's a solid one,
and that is 'Vote for Hastings.'"
The Secretary yawned sleepily.
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