“Zaanan’s beat, and he knows it,” was an opinion boldly expressed. “He hain’t even makin’ a fight for it. Calc’late he’s too old.”
“Calc’late,” replied a gesticulating individual, “he’s plum disgusted. Who’s the best friend Diversity folks has had, eh? Zaanan Frame; that’s who. And now, because a dollar for a vote is easy money to earn, men that ought to think shame is turnin’ against him. It hain’t that he can’t fight. Don’t git sich an idee into your head. It’s that he’s too disgusted to fight.”
“He’s run things long enough. Nobody kin call his soul his own. He comes perty clost to sayin’ who shall marry who, and which kind of a baby they’ll have after they’re married. We hain’t goin’ to stand that kind of thing much longer. No, sir; we’re a-goin’ to run our own affairs like we want to—”
“You’re a-goin’ to swap Zaanan Frame for Michael Moran, that’s what you’re goin’ to do—and you’re welcome to your bargain. Wait till Moran gits the power Zaanan’s got now. See how he uses it. Has any feller here got a word to say ag’in Zaanan’s honesty? Eh?”
“Kin anybody here lay his hand on a wrong Zaanan’s done? Kin anybody p’int to a case in court that hain’t come out as near fair and just as human men kin make it? No, you can’t. But wait. Why d’you calc’late Moran is reachin’ out for Zaanan’s place? It’s so he can chase the law out and put Mike Moran’s will in. That’s why. It’s so he kin make of Diversity what Quartus Hembly made of Owasco a few years back. He’ll rob you and git his courts to back him up; there’ll be wrongs done and nobody punished. Diversity is run by Zaanan Frame because we’ve turned over the job to him. But it’s run like an American town. Moran’ll run it like a town in Roosian Siberier. Mark me!”
“I call to mind the times ’fore Zaanan got his office first,” piped up a toothless octogenarian. “Diversity and Hell was first cousins. Sich things as I’ve seen! Wa-al, Zaanan he turned to, and ’twa’n’t long ’fore there wa’n’t a quieter, better-behaved town in the timber. He’s deserved a heap of this town.”
“He’s gone too far. Kind of figgers he’s king, or somethin’ like that. We hain’t goin’ to stand for it no more.”
“Go ahead,” squeaked the old man; “whatever you git is comin’ to you. ’Twon’t be a year ’fore you’re on your knees prayin’ for Zaanan Frame to come back, and it’ll be too late, ’cause this Moran’ll have the power and nobody’ll git it away from him.”