Nearly all the men were away from their homes,
however, on election night, and the messenger had evidently gone far
afield in his search. It must be a matter of minutes now to the
declaration of the poll.
A sudden roar of shouting and cheering was heard from the direction of
the Town Hall. Hyacinth's father clutched a pitchfork and prepared to
dash into the stye in the forlorn hope of being in time.
A shot rang out in the evening air. Hyacinth stooped down from his perch
and put his finger on the bolt. The sow pressed furiously against the
door.
"Bang," came another shot.
Hyacinth wriggled back, and sent a short ladder down through the window
of the inner stye.
"Now you can come up, you unclean little blighters," he sang out; "my
daddy's got in, not yours. Hurry up, I can't keep the sow waiting much
longer. And don't you jolly well come butting into any election again
where I'm on the job."
In the reaction that set in after the deliverance furious recrimination
were indulged in by the lately opposed candidates, their women folk,
agents, and party helpers. A recount was demanded, but failed to
establish the fact that the Colonial Secretary had obtained a majority.
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