At daylight the editor left John, and he really
had the headache that he had feigned a few hours before.
Then John Thomas tried to get a few winks of unmolested repose, but it
was election day, and the house was early astir. Loud voices sounded
through the hall. Innumerable people, it seemed, mistook his room for
their own. Jack rose at last, thoroughly indignant and disposed to
quarrel. He had a blame good notion to vote for Brown after all, after
the way he had been treated.
When he had hastily dressed himself, discussing his grievances in a
loud voice, he endeavored to leave the room, but found the door
securely locked. Then his anger knew no bounds. He lustily kicked on
the lower panel of the door and fairly shrieked his indignation and
rage.
The chambermaid, passing, remonstrated with him by beating on the other
side of the door. She was a pert young woman with a squeaky voice, and
she thought she knew what was wrong with the occupant of 17. She had
heard kicks on doors before.
"Quiet down, you, mister, or you'll get yourself put in the cooler--
that's the best place for noisy drunks."
This, of course, annoyed the innocent man beyond measure, but she was
gone far down the hall before he could think of the retort suitable.
When she finished her upstairs work and came downstairs to peel the
potatoes, she mentioned casually to the bartender that whoever he had
in number 17 was "smashin' things up pretty lively!"
The bartender went up and liberated the indignant voter, who by this
time had his mind made up to vote against both Brown and Hastings, and
furthermore to renounce politics in all its aspects for evermore.
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