“Gabe and the Progressives and the Conservatives set and looked at each other.  And up jumps ’Bije Simmons, and calls for three cheers for the new president.

“Nobody jined in them cheers but the old billiard room gang; they did, though, every one of ’em, and Jotham smiled fatherly down on his flock.

“I s’pose there ain’t no need of explainin’.  Jotham had worked it all, from the very fust.  When the tie business begun and Gaius and Dan was bribin’ the billiard roomers to jine the club, ’twas him that fixed how they should vote so’s to keep the deadlock goin’.  ’Twas him that put Bassett up to proposin’ him as a member.  ’Twas him that suggested Gabe’s comin’ back to Gaius.  ’Twas him that—­But what’s the use?  ’Twas him all along.  He was it.

“That night everybody but the billiard-room gang sent in their resignation to that club.  We refused to be bossed by such people.  Gabe resigned, too.  He was disgusted with East Harniss and all hands in it.  He’d have took back the clubhouse, but he couldn’t, as the deed of gift was free and clear.  But he swore he’d never give it another cent.

“Folks thought that would end the thing, because it wouldn’t be self-supportin’, but Jotham had different idees.  He simply moved his pool tables and truck up from the old shop, and now he’s got the finest place of the kind on the Cape, rent free.

“’I told you ‘twould make a good billiard saloon, didn’t I, Bailey?’ he says, chucklin’.

“‘Jotham,’ says I, ‘of your kind you’re a perfect wonder.’

“‘Well,’ says he, ‘I diagnosed that men’s club as sufferin’ from acute politics.  I’ve been doctorin’ that disease for a long time.  The trouble with you reformers,’ he adds, solemn, ’is that, when it comes to political doin’s, you ain’t practical.’

“As for Stingy Gabe, he shut up his fine house and moved to New York.  Said he was through with helpin’ the moral tone.

“‘When I die,’ he says to me, ’if I go to the bad place I may start in reformin’ that.  It don’t need it no more’n South Orham does, but ’twill be enough sight easier job.’

“And,” concluded Captain Stitt, as soon as he could be heard above the “Haw! haws!” caused by the Honorable Holway’s final summing-up of his native town, “I ain’t so sure that he was greatly mistook.  What do you think, Sol?”

The depot master shook his head.  “Don’t know, Bailey,” he answered, dryly.  “I’ll have to visit both places ’fore I give an opinion.  I have been to South Orham, but the neighborhood that your friend Gabe compared it to I ain’t seen—­yet.  I put on that ‘yet,’” he added, with a wink, “’cause I knew Sim Phinney would if I didn’t.”

Captain Bailey rose and covered a yawn with a plump hand.

“I believe I’ll go over to Obed’s and turn in,” he said.  “I’m sleepy as a minister’s horse tonight.  You don’t mind, do you, Obed?”

“No-o,” replied Mr. Gott, slowly.  “No, I don’t, ’special.  I kind of thought I’d run into the club a few minutes and see some of the other fellers.  But it ain’t important—­not very.”