came to be
amused, or to lull his possible suspicion of having lost their old
allegiance. But they came.

That year every man capable of moving on two legs or of being supported
into a carriage, turned out to vote. Something had been done by
infection. Jeff had done it through his fervour, and Madame Beattie a
thousand times more by pure dramatic eccentricity. People were at least
amusedly anxious to see how it was going, and old Addingtonians felt it
a cheerful duty to stand by Alston Choate. The Mill Enders voted late,
all of them, so late that Weedon Moore, who kept track of their
activities, wondered if they meant to vote at all. But they did vote,
they also to the last man, and a rumour crept about that some
irregularity was connected with the ballot. But whatever they did, it
was by concerted action, after a definite design. Weedon Moore, an
agitated figure, meeting Jeff, was so worried and excited by it that he
had to cackle his anxiety.

"What are they doing?" he said, stopping before Jeff on the pavement.
"They've got up some damned thing or other. It's illegal, Blake. I give
you my word it's illegal."

"What is it?" Jeff inquired, looking down on Weedie with something of
the feeling once popularly supposed to be the desert of toads before
that warty personality had been advertised as beneficent to gardens.

"I don't know what it is," said Moore, almost weeping. "But it's some
damned trick, and I'll be even with them."

"If they elect you--" Jeff began coldly.

"They won't elect me," said Moore, from his general overthrow. "Six
months ago every man Jack of 'em was promised to me. Somebody's tampered
with 'em. I don't know whether it's you or Madame Beattie. She led me
on, a couple of weeks ago, into telling her what I knew about trickery
at the polls--"

"All you knew?" Jeff could not resist saying. "All you know about
trickery, Weedie?"

"As a lawyer," said Weedie, "I told her about writing in names. I told
her about stickers--"

"What did she want to know for?" Jeff asked. He, too, was roused to
sudden startled interest.

"You know as much as I do. She was interested in my election, said she
was speaking for me, wanted to know how we managed to crowd in an extra
name not on the ballot. Had heard of that. It worried her, she said.
Blake, that old woman is as clever as the devil."

Jeff made his way past the fuming candidate and walked on, speculating.
Madame Beattie had assuredly done something.