So that Chief Joseph Fry--the White Clam Shell of his
own lost fires--was never allowed the chance of making
good the election losses of that year, as he had confidently
expected to do when the charge came on; nor was it given
to any of the Yellow Dogs and Red Feathers of Mr
Cruickshank's citation to boast at the tribal dog-feasts
of the future, of the occasion on which they had bested
"de boss." Neither was any further part in public affairs,
except by way of jocular reference, assigned to Finnigan's
cat. The proceedings of the court abruptly terminated,
the judges reported the desirability of a second contest,
and the public accepted with a wink. The wink in any form
was hateful to Lorne Murchison, but he had not to encounter
it long.
The young man had changed in none of the aspects he
presented to his fellow-citizens since the beginning of
the campaign. In the public eye he wore the same virtues
as he wore the same clothes; he summed up even a greater
measure of success; his popularity was unimpaired. He
went as keenly about the business of life, handling its
details with the same capable old drawl. Only his mother,
with the divination of mothers, declared that since the
night of the opera house meeting Lorne had been "all
worked up." She watched him with furtive anxious looks,
was solicitous about his food, expressed relief when she
knew him to be safely in bed and asleep.
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