"Con" was Cornelius Bonner, an Irishman, one of the deadlocked school board, and the captain of the road grader. He winked back at the pathmaster. "Jim's the gray-eyed man o' destiny," he replied, "if he can get two votes in that board." "You'd vote for me, wouldn't you, Con?" asked Jim. "I'll try annything wance," replied Bonner. "Try voting with Ezra Bronson once, for Prue Foster," suggested Jim. "She's done good work here." "Opinions differ," said Bonner, "an' when you try annything just for wance, it shouldn't be an irrevocable shtip, me bye." "You're a reasonable board of public servants," said Jim ironically. "I'd like to tell the whole board what I think of them." "Come down to-night," said Bonner jeeringly. "We're going to have a board meeting at the schoolhouse and ballot a few more times. Come down, and be the Garfield of the convintion. We've lacked brains on the board, that's clear. They ain't a man on the board that iver studied algebra, 'r that knows more about farmin' than their impl'yers. Come down to the schoolhouse, and we'll have a field-hand addriss the school board--and begosh, I'll move yer illiction mesilf! Come, now, Jimmy, me bye, be game. It'll vary the program, anny-how." The entire gang grinned. Jim flushed, and then reconquered his calmness of spirit. "All right, Con," said he. "I'll come and tell you a few things--and you can do as you like about making the motion." CHAPTER II REVERSED UNANIMITY The great blade of the grading machine, running diagonally across the road and pulling the earth toward its median line, had made several trips, and much persiflage about Jim Irwin's forthcoming appearance before the board had been addressed to Jim and exchanged by others for his benefit. To Newton Bronson was given the task of leveling and distributing the earth rolled into the road by the grader--a labor which in the interests of fitting a muzzle on his big mongrel dog he deserted whenever the machine moved away from him. No dog would have seemed less deserving of a muzzle, for he was a friendly animal, always wagging his tail, pressing his nose into people's palms, licking their clothing and otherwise making a nuisance of himself. That there was some mystery about the muzzle was evident from Newton's pains to make a secret of it. Its wires were curled into a ring directly over the dog's nose, and into this ring Newton had fitted a cork, through which he had thrust a large needle which protruded, an inch-long bayonet, in front of Ponto's nose. As the grader swept back, horses straining, harness creaking and a billow of dark earth rolling before the knife, Ponto, fully equipped with this stinger, raced madly alongside, a friend to every man, but not unlike some people, one whose friendship was of all things to be most dreaded.