At just that minute, outraged
partners of Miss Weyland's espied and descended upon them with loud
reproachful cries, and Charles Gardiner West's moment of superb
impetuosity had flowered in nothing.
* * * * *
At a little earlier hour on the same evening, in a dining-room a mile
away, eight men met "without political significance" to elect a new set
of officers for the city. A bit of red-tape legislation permitted the
people to ratify the choices at a "primary," to be held some months
later; but the election came now. Unanimously, and with little or no
discussion, the eight men elected one of their own number, Mr. Meachy T.
Bangor by name, to the office of Mayor of the City.
One of them then referred humorously to Mr. Bangor as just the sort of
progressive young reformer that suited _him_. Another suggested, more
seriously, that they might have to allow for the genuine article some
day. Plonny Neal, who sat at the head of the table, as being the wisest
of them, said that the organization certainly must expect to knuckle to
reform some day; perhaps in eight years, perhaps in twelve years,
perhaps in sixteen.
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