: Oliver October by McCutcheon George Barr - American fiction 20th century; Prophecies Fiction

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och would run behind the rest of the ticket, to be sure, but he would "squeeze through" safely, and that was all that was necessary.

The report that young Oliver Baxter, of Rumley, was being urged to make the race against his uncle caused no uneasiness among the bosses. It was not until after the young man was nominated and actually in the field, that misgivings beset the bosses. Young Baxter was popular in the southern section of the county, he was a war hero, and he was an upstanding figure in a community where the voters were as likely as not to "jump the traces." And when the emboldened Republican press of the county began to speak of their candidate as a "shark," there was active and acute dismay. They sent for Mr. Gooch and suggested that it wouldn't be a bad idea for him to withdraw from the race--on account of his age, or his health.

"But I'm not an old man," protested Mr. Gooch irascibly, "and I've never been sick a day in my life. I'm sixty-four. You wouldn't call that old, would you?"

No, the chairman wouldn't call that old, but from what he could gather this was destined to be "a young man's year." Young men were in the saddle; you couldn't shake 'em out.

"Do you mean to tell me," began Horace, genuinely amazed, "that you think this young whipper-snapper of a nephew of mine is liable to defeat me?"

"Oh, I guess perhaps we can pull you through," said the chairman, rather unfeelingly.

"My dear sir, we have a safe majority of four thousand votes in this county. Why do you say you 'guess perhaps' you can pull me through? If you are joking, I wish to state to you right here and now that I do not approve of jokes. If you are in earnest, all I can say is that you must be crazy. The people of this county want a sound, solid, able business man to represent them in the legislature. They don't want a young, inexperienced, untried whipper-snapper--"

"Nobody knows what the people want," said the chairman sententiously. "Now, this young Baxter. He's a fine feller. He's got lots of friends. Everybody likes him. He has a clear record. There isn't a thing we can say against him. On the other hand, he can say a lot of nasty things about you, Mr. Gooch. We can't come back at him when he begins stumping the county and talking about tax-sales, foreclosures, ten per cent interest, people having to go to the poorhouse, and all that kind of stuff. What kind of a comeback have we? What are we to--"

"No man can accuse me of being dishonest; no man can question my integrity--"

"Lord bless you, Mr. Gooch, nobody's going to accuse you of being dishonest. All they're going to say about you is that you're a rich man, a skinflint, a tax shark, a gouger, a hypocrite, a wolf in sheep's clothing, a snake in the grass, a Shylock, and a good many other things," said the county chairman, with brutal frankness.

Mr. Gooch was not greatly disturbed by the prospect. He had heard all these terms of opprobrium before; he was used to them. He said something about "water off of a duck's back," and fell to twisting his wiry gray beard with steady, claw-like fingers.

"We can't afford to lose a single seat in the legislature," went on the chairman. "That's why we thought best to put it up to you straight, Mr. Gooch. I'm not saying you'll be licked next November, but you stand a blamed good chance of it, let me tell you, if this young Baxter goes after you without gloves."

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