A chorus of objections arose from the Baldwin party. “Question!” shouted Hulbert with his auctioneer’s lungs. “A motion to adjourn, Mr. Moderator, is not debatable.” “Question! question! question!” the forty followers yelled, at the top of their lungs. “Right you are; a motion to adjourn is not debatable,” said the Moderator, as soon as he could make himself heard. “You hear the motion; all in favor of adjourning this meeting to seven-thirty o’clock this evening, will signify it by saying _Aye_; contrary minds, _No_. It is a vote.” “Disputed! disputed!” the Baldwin forces yelled, as they now saw other voters coming, and hoped for reinforcements by delay. “All in favor of this motion raise your right hands,” said the Moderator. “I see forty-two hands. Now all opposed, raise your right hands. I see seventeen hands. The motion is carried. This meeting is adjourned until seven-thirty o’clock this evening.” The trap of Ford Hulbert’s setting had sprung neatly, and caught the Baldwins napping. It had been customary to adjourn until two o’clock, hence the small number present, and the ease with which Hulbert’s strategy succeeded. For the first time in many years the mill-hands would have a chance to vote on the money to be spent for their schools, highways, and other expenses. At the evening session Zechariah Baldwin took the floor, and said: “It was a mean, contemptible trick to adjourn town-meeting to this hour. No decent man would take part in such a game.” Ford Hulbert sprang to his feet. “Mr. Moderator: There is _one_ gentleman by the name of Baldwin, whom we all delight to honor. Let us hear from our Congressman.” Amid cheers the Congressman rose and said: “I am satisfied with this arrangement if it meets the popular will. Let us get to business.” He was too wise to show the anger which he felt. The business of the town-meeting was marked out by a committee consisting of all the larger property-owners in the town, and one common laborer. It was through this “Financial Committee” that the Baldwins largely controlled town-meeting, and the one lonely laborer showed how lightly they esteemed the class that had made them wealthy. To-day the improvement of a certain street, the home of laborers, was under discussion. Sheriff Burse, an agent of the Baldwins, arose, and in a husky voice, like the whisper of the wind thro’ the pine woods, said that the Financial Committee did not approve the appropriation. True, a dozen vehicles had been overturned on that street recently, but, according to the Sheriff, it was the fault of the drivers. The matter was considered settled, when a sleepy-looking little man arose and addressed the Chair. “Uncle Jerry Barnaby,” whispered the crowd. “There’ll be fun now.”