He did not glance at Presson
or at Harlan Thornton.
"Did you ever _see_ anything like it, did you ever _hear_ anything like
it, Honor'ble?" the new arrival demanded with heat. "They're goin' to
make a caucus out of it--a _caucus_!"
The man had a lower jaw edged with a roll of black whisker, a jaw that
protruded like a bulldog's. With the familiarity of the long-time
lieutenant, he pecked with thumb and forefinger at the end of a cigar
protruding from his chief's waistcoat-pocket. He wrenched off the tip
between snaggy teeth. He spat the tip far.
"Yes, sir, by jehoshaphat, a caucus!"
Chairman Presson's ear had caught the sound of politics. He felt that he
was entitled, ex officio, to be present at any conference. He hurried to
the end of the porch.
"We ain't had a caucus in this district for more'n forty years," stated
the new arrival, accepting the chairman as a friend of the cause.
"Except as the chairman catches the seckertery somewhere and then
hollers for some one to come in from the street and renominate the
Honor'ble Thornton.
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