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"Sure as 'lection! he telled Mis' Simpson so, and she telled Mr. Ten Eyck; and he's cleared out." Fleda and Hugh again looked at each other. Mr. Skillcorn having now delivered himself of his news went out to the woodyard. "I hope he ha'n't carried off our cows along with him," said Barby, as she too went out to some other part of her premises.
The car was shaking with the throb of the motor, but Casey could feel no forward motion. "Settin' here burnin' gas like a 'lection bonfire she sure would think I'm drunk if she knowed it," Casey muttered, and straddled over the side of the car to the running board.
Children now know nothing of what "'Lection" was in those days, the annual period, that is, when the newly elected State government came in. It was in the last week in May. How eager were we boys to have the corn planted before that time! The playing could not be had till the work was done. The sports and the entertainments were very simple.
This did not please the ministers. Urian Oakes wrote sadly that Election Day had become a time "to meet, to smoke, carouse and swagger and dishonor God with the greater bravery." Various local customs obtained. "'Lection cake," a sort of rusk rich with fruit and wine, was made in many localities; indeed, is still made in some families that I know; and sometimes "'lection beer" was brewed.
"Wen 'lection time 'rived, he com'd home bringing some flour an' meat; an' he says ter Aunt Polly, 'Ole woman, I got dis fer de wote. She jis' picked up dat meat an' flour an' sent it sailin' outer doors, an' den com'd back an' gib him a good tongue-lashin'. 'Oder people, she said, 'a wotin' ter lib good, an' you a sellin' yore wote!
Them 'lection buns are no go, said the young man John, so called. I know the trick. Give a fellah a fo'penny bun in the mornin', an' he downs the whole of it. In about an hour it swells up in his stomach as big as a football, and his feedin's sp'ilt for that day. That's the way to stop off a young one from eatin' up all the 'lection dinner. Salem! Salem! not Boston, shouted the little man.
Rolf Quigley is sign enough, if ye want signs in 'lections, with money, an' frien's, an' a term of office, an' the reg'lar nominee o' the party, an' ye jes' an independent candidate. No star a-waggin' a tale aroun' the sky air haffen ez dangerous ter yer 'lection ez him. An' he ain't lookin' at no comic!
"Well, Squire," replied Tom carelessly, "I've concluded I won't bother myself with this 'lection it don't pay!" "Don't pay!" exclaimed the frightened politician. "Why, Tom, are you not a true friend to your party?
I know that a passel of big lawyers and judges say that we can't make a effectual door cause there ain't no timber in the constitution fur tu make it of and so some is fur putting up a rickety kind of a barricade fur tu keep folks on Sundays and lection days, and some is fur hevin a gate that them air sarpents inside will hev fur tu pay a big pile of money fur tu get the privilege of openin.
A sudden, secret, important look, as if he were colloguing with some one vanquished in argument, crossed his face. He nodded once or twice, but only said acquiescently: "Ah ha! Ah ha! Toler'ble enterprisin'. Run fur office an git married 'lection day." He smiled broadly. Any innovation on the stereotyped methods appealed to him with the grace and relish of a new metre to a neophytic rhymester.
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