I
It is the day after Flamsted's first municipal election; after twenty
years of progress it has attained to proud citizenship. The community,
now amounting to twelve thousand, has spent all its surplus energy in
municipal electioneering delirium; there were four candidates in the
field for mayor and party spirit ran high. On this bright May morning of
1910, the streets are practically deserted, whereas yesterday they were
filled with shouting throngs. The banners are still flung across the
main street; a light breeze lifts them into prominence and with them the
name of the successful candidate they bear--Luigi Poggi.
The Colonel, as a result of continued oratory in favor of his
son-in-law's candidacy, is laid up at home with an attack of laryngitis;
but he has strength left to whisper to Elmer Wiggins who has come up to
see him:
"Yesterday, after twenty years of solid work, Flamsted entered upon its
industrial majority through the throes of civic travail," a mixture of
metaphors that Mr. Wiggins ignores in his joy at the result of the
election; for Mr. Wiggins has been hedging with his New England
conscience and fearing, as a consequence, punishment in
disappointmenting election results. He wavered, in casting his vote,
between the two principal candidates, young Emlie, Lawyer Emlie's son,
and Luigi Poggi.
As a Flamstedite in good and regular standing, he knew he ought to vote
for his own, Emlie, instead of a foreigner. But, he desired above all
things to see Luigi Poggi, his friend, the most popular merchant and
keenest man of affairs in the town, the first mayor of the city of
Flamsted. Torn between his duty and the demands of his heart, he
compromised by starting a Poggi propaganda, that was carried on over his
counter and behind the mixing-screen, with every customer whether for
pills or soda water. Then, on the decisive day, he entered the booth and
voted a straight Emlie ticket!! So much for the secret ballot.
He shook the Colonel's hand right heartily.
"I thought I'd come up to congratulate personally both you and the city,
and talk things over in a general way, Colonel; sorry to find you so
used up, but in a good cause."
The Colonel beamed.
"A matter of a day or two of rest. You did good work, Mr. Wiggins, good
work," he whispered; "you'd make a good parliamentary whip--'Gad, my
voice is gone!--but as you say, in a good cause--a good cause--"
"No better on earth," Mr. Wiggins responded enthusiastically.
The Colonel was magnanimous; he forbore to whisper one word in reminder
of the old-time pessimism that twenty years ago held the small-headed
man of Maine in such dubious thrall.
"It was each man's vote that told--yours, and mine--" he whispered
again, nodding understandingly.
Mr. Wiggins at once changed the subject.
"Don't you exert yourself, Colonel; let me do the talking--for a
change," he added with a twinkle in his eyes. The Colonel caught his
meaning and threw back his head for a hearty laugh, but failed to make a
sound.
"Mr. Van Ostend came up on the train last night, just in time to see the
fireworks, they say," said Mr. Wiggins. "Yes," he went on in answer to a
question he read in the Colonel's eyes, "came up to see about the Champo
property. Emlie told me this morning. Mr. Van Ostend and Tave and Father
Honore are up there now; I saw the automobile standing in the driveway
as I came up on the car. Guess Tave has run the place about as long as
he wants to alone. He's getting on in years like the rest of us, and
don't want so much responsibility."
"Does Emlie know anything?" whispered the Colonel eagerly.
"Nothing definite; they're going to talk it over to-day; but he had some
idea about the disposition of the estate, I think, from what he said."