"Fellow-citizens, we're here in a big fight. We can't afford t' make any mistake. We can't afford to be tolled off the track by a bag of anise seed. Who is the man makin' this motion? Does anybody know him? I do. He's a spy. He's sent here f'r a purpose. Suppose he'd nominated a better man? His motion would have been out of place. His nomination of Jim McGann was a trick. Jim McGann can't git a pound o' sugar on credit in his own town. He never had any credit n'r influence. Why was he nominated? Simply to make us ridiculous--a laughin' stock. I want to put you on your guard. If we win it's got t' be in a straight fight. That's all I've got t' say. Recognize no nomination that don't come from a man y' know."
The convention clamored its approval, and the small spy and trickster slunk away and disappeared. There was a certain majesty in the action of this group of roused farmers. Nominations were seconded and ratified with shouts, even down through the most important officers in the county and town. It was magnificent to see how deep was the harmony of action.
Deering was forced to accept the nomination for treasurer by this feeling of the unanimity and genuineness which pervaded each succeeding action, and when the vote was called, and the men thrust their hands in the air and shouted, they had something of the same feeling that lay at the heart of the men of Uri, and Unterwalden, and Schwyz when they shouted their votes together in the valley with the mighty cordon of guarding mountains around them.
The grange had made this convention and its magnificent action possible. Each leading member of the grange, through its festivals, and picnics, and institutes, had become known to the rest, and they were able to choose their leaders instantly. The ticket as it stood was very strong. Deering as treasurer and Councill as sheriff, insured success so far as these officers were concerned.
On the way home Councill shouted back at the young men riding with Jennings: "Now's a good time for you young chaps t' take the field and lectioneer while we nominees wear biled collars, and set in the parlor winder."
"What you want to do is stay at home and dig taters," shouted Milton. "A biled collar would defeat any one of yeh, dead sure."