Part 20 (1/2)

Barry; the letters with which Ruth had helped him,--these, he was certain, had drawn the arrow's head to the spot where rested his stake and the union's.

Tom reached the hall at six-thirty. The polls did not open till seven, but already thirty or forty of Foley's men stood in knots in front of the building.

”h.e.l.lo, boys! Now don't he think he's It!” said one admiringly.

”Poor Buck! This's the last o' him!” groaned another.

There was a burst of derisive laughter, and each of the party tossed a bit of language in his way; but Tom made no answer and pa.s.sed them unflinchingly. At the doorway he was stopped by the policeman who was regularly stationed at Potomac Hall on meeting nights.

”Goin' to have a fist sociable to-night?” the policeman asked, anxiously watching the men in the street.

”Can't say, Murphy. Ask Foley. He'll be floor manager, if there is one.”

As he went through the hallway toward the stairs, Tom paused to glance through a side door into the big bar-room, which, with a cafe, occupied the whole of the first floor. A couple of score of Foley men stood at the bar and sat about the tables. It certainly did look as if there might be festivities.

Tom mounted the broad stairway and knocked at the door of the union's hall. Hogan, the sergeant-at-arms, a Foley man, gingerly admitted him.

The hall in which he found himself was a big rectangular room, perhaps fifty by one hundred feet. The walls had once been maroon in color, and had a broad moulding of plaster that had been white and gilt; the ceiling had likewise once been maroon, and was decorated with plaster scroll-work and crudely painted cl.u.s.ters of fruits and flowers--scroll-work and paintings lacking their one-time freshness.

From the center of the ceiling hung a great ball of paper roses; at the front of the room was a grand piano in a faded green cover. The sign advertising the hall, nailed on the building's front, had as its last clause: ”Also available for weddings, receptions, and b.a.l.l.s.”

Tom's glance swept the room. All was in readiness for the election. The floor was cleared of its folding chairs, they being now stacked at the rear of the room; down the hall's middle ran a row of tables, set end to end, with chairs on either side; Bill Jackson, one of his supporters, was at Hogan's elbow, ready to hand out the ballots as the men were admitted; the five tellers--Barry, Pete, Jake and two other Foley men--were smoking at the front of the room, Jake lolling on the piano, and the other four on the platform where the officers sat at the regular meetings.

Tom joined Pete and Barry, and the three drew to one side to await the opening of the door. ”Anything new?” Tom asked.

”Nothin',” answered Pete. ”But say, Tom, that letter was certainly hot stuff! I've heard some o' the boys talkin' about it. They think it's great. It's bringin' a lot o' them out.”

”That's good.”

”An' we're goin' to win, sure.”

Tom nodded. ”If Foley don't work some of his tricks.”

”Oh, we'll look out for that,” said Pete confidently.

Promptly at seven o'clock Hogan unlocked the door. The men began to mount the stairway. As each man came to the door Hogan examined his members.h.i.+p card, and, if it showed the holder to be in good standing, admitted him. Jackson then handed him a ballot, on which the names of all the candidates were printed in a vertical row, and he walked to one of the tables and made crosses before the names of the men for whom he desired to vote.

Five minutes after the door had been opened there were thirty or forty men in the room, an equal number of each party, Foley among them. Jake, who was chief teller, rose at the center table on the platform to discharge the formality of offering the ballot-box for inspection. He unlocked the box, which was about twelve inches square, and performing a slow arc presented the open side to the eyes of the tellers and the waiting members. The box was empty.

”All right?” he asked.

”Sure,” said the men carelessly. The tellers nodded.

Foley began the telling of a yarn, and was straightway the center of the group of voters. In the meantime Jake locked the box and started to carry it to its appointed place on a table at one end of the platform, to reach which he had to pa.s.s through the narrow s.p.a.ce between the wall and the chair-backs of the other tellers. As he brushed through this alley, Tom, whose eyes had not left him, saw the ballot-box turn so that its slot was toward the wall, and glimpsed a quick motion of Jake's hand from a pocket toward the slot--a motion wholly of the wrist. He sprang after the chief teller and seized his hand.

”You don't work that game!” he cried.

Foley's story snapped off. His hearers pivoted to face the disturbance.

Jake turned about. ”What game?”

”Open your hand!” Tom demanded.