Upon the City
Hotel corner, day after day, he buttonholed voters and whispered to them
with alcoholic fervor that Potts was a gentleman of character, "as
blotchless as the driftin' snow." Joe believed in Potts pathetically.
The campaign wore its way through the summer, and Solon Denney was
still silent, still secretive, still confident, but, alas! still
inactive so far as we could observe. I may say that we lost faith in him
as the barren weeks came and went. We came to believe that his assured
bearing was but a shield for his real despair.
Having given up hope, some of us reached a point where we could view the
whole affair as a jest. It became a popular diversion to enter the
establishment of the ever serious Westley Keyts and whisper secretively
to him that Solon Denney had found a diplomatic way to rid the town of
Potts, but this never moved Westley.
"Once bit--twice shy!" would be his response as he returned to slicing
steaks.
CHAPTER VI
A MATTER OF PERSONAL PROPERTY
In deference to the wishes of J.R.C. Tuckerman, I had formed a habit of
breakfasting in summer on the little back porch that overlooks the
river. Less radical departures from orthodox custom, it is true, have
caused adverse comment in our watchful little town; but the spot was
secluded from casual censors.
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