“I figger maybe you kin.  Like to see you git ahead.  Where d’you calculate to buy them implements?”

“Off of you.”

“I got ’em to sell.  When you got to have the money?”

“Two weeks to-morrow.”

This was the day after the town meeting.

“Come in and pick out your implements,” said Scattergood.

“Meanin’ you’ll indorse?”

“Meanin’ that—­pervidin’ nothin’ unforeseen comes up between now and then.”

Half a day was spent selecting tools and implements for the farm, and though Pilkinton did not know it, it was Scattergood’s selection that was purchased.  Scattergood knew what was necessary and what would be economical, and that was what Pilkinton got, and nothing more.  It netted Scattergood a pleasant profit, and Kent got the full equivalent of his money.

“Preside at town meetin’, don’t you?”

“My duty,” said Kent.

“Calc’late to do your duty?”

“Always done so.”

“Comin’ to see you do it,” said Scattergood.  He paused.  “Next mornin’ we’ll fix up the note.  G’-by, Kent.”  During the fourteen days that followed Coldriver was happy; between politics and the forbidden horse race, it had such food for conversation that even cribbage under the barber shop languished, and one had to walk into the road to pass the crowd at the post office of evenings.  As to the horse race, it resembled a boil.  Daily it grew more painful.  Like a boil, such a horse race as this must burst some day, and it was reaching the acute stage.  But Town-marshal Pease was vigilant and spoke sternly of the majesty of the law.

As to the election, it grew even more dubious.  Scattergood privately took stock of the situation.  Marvin Towne and the Prohibitionists might count now on a vote or two more than fifty.  Postmaster Pratt appeared certain of better than a hundred, and so did the opposing party.  One or the other of them was certain to win as matters lay, and Marvin’s case seemed hopeless.  Marvin conceived it so and was for withdrawing, but Scattergood saw to it that he did not withdraw.

“Keep your votes together,” he said.  “Stiffen ’em.”  It was his first direct order.  “Fetch ’em to the meetin’ and be sure of every one.”

On town-meeting day Coldriver filled with rigs from the surrounding township.  Every rail and post was utilized for hitching, and Town-marshal Pease, his star displayed, patrolled the town to avert disorder.  He patrolled until the meeting went into session, and then he took his chair just under the platform, and, as was his duty, guarded the sacredness of the ballot.