The bread was thrown deftly and unostentatiously into the stye, but
Hyacinth saw through the manoeuvre. He set up a piercing imitation of a
small pit in Purgatory, and the infuriated mother ramped round and round
the stye; the pieces of bread were trampled into slush.
At any moment now the poll might be declared. Jutterly flew back to the
Town Hall, where the votes were being counted. His agent met him with a
smile of hope.
"You're eleven ahead at present, and only about eighty more to be
counted; you're just going to squeak through."
"I mustn't squeak through," exclaimed Jutterly, hoarsely. "You must
object to every doubtful vote on our side that can possibly be
disallowed. I must _not_ have the majority."
Then was seen the unprecedented sight of a party agent challenging the
votes on his own side with a captiousness that his opponents would have
hesitated to display. One or two votes that would have certainly passed
muster under ordinary circumstances were disallowed, but even so Jutterly
was six ahead with only thirty more to be counted.
To the watchers by the stye the moments seemed intolerable. As a last
resort some one had been sent for a gun with which to shoot the sow,
though Hyacinth would probably draw the bolt the moment such a weapon was
brought into the yard.
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