“One week after the farewell sermon, Daniel Bassett drops in casual on me.  He was passin’ around smoking material lavish and regardless.

“‘Stitt,’ says he, ’you’ve always voted for Conservatism in our local affairs, haven’t you?’

“‘Well,’ says I, ’I didn’t vote to roof the town hall with a new mortgage, if that’s what you mean.’

“‘Exactly,’ he says.  ’Now, our men’s club, while not as yet the success we hoped for, has come to be a power for good in our community.  It needs for its president a conservative, thoughtful man.  Bailey,’ he says, ’it has come to my ears that Gaius Ellis intends to run for that office.  You know him.  As a taxpayer, as a sober, thoughtful citizen, my gorge rises at such insolence.  I protest, sir!  I protest against—­’

“He was standin’ up, makin’ gestures with both arms, and he had his town-meetin’ voice iled and runnin’.  I was too busy to hanker for a stump speech, so I cut across his bows.

“‘All right, all right,’ says I.  ‘I’ll vote for you, Dan.’

“He fetched a long breath.  ‘Thank you,’ says he.  ’Thank you.  That makes ten.  Ellis can count on no more than nine.  My election is assured.’

“Seein’ that there wa’n’t but nineteen reg’lar voters who come to the club meetin’s, if Bassett had ten of ’em it sartin did look as if he’d get in.  But on election night what does Gaius Ellis do but send a wagon after old man Solomon Peavey, who’d been dry docked with rheumatiz for three months, and Sol’s vote evened her up.  ’Twas ten to ten, a deadlock, and the election was postponed for another week.

“This was of a Tuesday.  On Wednesday I met Bije Simmons, the chap who was playin’ pool at Jotham’s.

“‘Hey, Bailey!’ says he.  ‘Shake hands with a brother.  I’m goin’ to jine the men’s club.’

“‘You be?’ says I, surprised enough, for Simmons was a billiard-roomer from ’way back.

“‘Yup,’ he says.  ‘I’ll be voted in at next meetin’, sure.  I’m studyin’ up on parchesi now.’

“‘Hum!’ I says, thinkin’.  ‘How you goin to vote?’

“‘Me?’ says he.  ’Me?  Why, man, I wonder at you!  Can’t you see the fires of Conservatism blazin’ in my eyes?  I’m Conservative bred and Conservative born, and when I’m dead there’ll be a Conservative gone.  By, by.  See you Tuesday night.’

“He went off, stoppin’ everybody he met to tell ’em the news.  And on Thursday Ed Barnes dropped in to pay me the seventy-five cents he’d borrowed two years ago come Fourth of July.  When I’d got over the fust shock and had counted the money three times, I commenced to ask questions.

“‘Somebody die and will you a million, Ed?’ I wanted to know.

“‘No,’ says he.  ‘It’s the reward of virtue.  I’m goin’ to be a better man.  I’m jinin’ the men’s club.’

“‘No!’ says I, for Ed was as strong a billiard-roomer as Bije.

“‘Sure!’ he answers.  ’I’m filled full of desires for crokinole and progressiveness.  See you Tuesday night at the meetin’.’