While the tellers were counting votes for the third selectman Hiram signalled his band to play up. But the moderator ordered silence and sent two constables to enforce his commands. Hiram, endeavouring to shout remonstrance, was threatened with expulsion from the hall. He had lost his grip on the situation. His supporters had not deserted him, by any means, but they were too confused to act in concert. The new men were better men than their own candidates. They were nominated with a certain spontaneity that disarmed the opposition. Each time the polling was in progress Hiram stood on a settee waving handfuls of ballots and shouting the name of his candidate. But many voters who accepted slips from him secretly dropped them upon the sawdust floor at a word whispered to them as they filed along toward the ballot box. It was not until the meeting reached the election of a town treasurer that the opposition saw its real opportunity. The Squire, who had made no nominating speech up to this time, secured recognition from the moderator before Hiram’s lieutenant could struggle to his feet, even though the showman had reached over two settees and thrust a broad hand against his back. The lawyer walked to the little space before the platform and stood there, his hands behind him, his expression amiable, yet with something of that new determination in it that Palermo had just begun to note. “The hankering for new brooms is a natural and proper one, fellow-townsmen,” he said, “and I am glad that Palermo has shown so much good sense here to-day. We have chosen an admirable board of town officers up to this time, and I am sure that those still to be elected will be just as good and true men. You are now to choose a treasurer for the town. We have plenty of good material for other officers, but I want to say to you earnestly I am convinced that we have only one man in Palermo who by training and ability is suited to be our treasurer. “It is an office that requires tact and good judgment, even though the sums that pass through the hands of our treasurer are not large. These qualifications are possessed in abundant measure by the present incumbent of the office. But there is a personal reason why we should reelect Judge Willard, and in a little town like ours--a neighbourhood, you may call it, almost--a personal reason of this nature should sway us. Judge Willard’s father and grandfather before him were town treasurers. The office has become associated with the family name. It will be recalled by you that no Willard has ever charged the town one cent for his services. It is one of those peculiar cases where the rule of rotation in office is overweighed by sentiment. I’ll confess to having sentiment myself about this matter. I’d as soon be a party to cutting down our big elm where Lafayette sat in the shade while his dinner was being cooked at the old tavern.” His face grew grave.