"Down to the hotel," says Mark, with a funny look in his eye. "I don't calc'late we'll see Rock 'fore night."
"That's funny," says I.
"'Tain't so funny as you m-might think," says he.
Tallow was keeping count of subscriptions, and every little while he'd come and tell us how many was in.
"Lit'ry Circlers is two ahead," says he, about four o'clock. The contest was goin' to close at five, so it looked like the Circlers had it. But in come Mrs. Bobbin with three more, and put the Culturers jest one ahead. That was all till the clock was 'most ready to strike, when in come Mrs. Strubber with one. One!
Mark and I looked at each other, and then we looked at Tallow and Plunk.
It was a tie. Them women had got four hunderd and forty-six subscriptions for each club-and the fat was in the fire. Anything else could have happened and made a little trouble, maybe, but to have this thing end up in a tie was to bring on a regular war.
"Mark," says I, "I guess I got to go out of town for a couple of days-over to Uncle Oscar's."
He grinned.
"We're up against it, Binney," says he, "but we got to stick it out."
"Let's give one of 'em an extry," says Tallow, "that'll fix the tie."
"No," says Mark. "This t-t-thing has been run fair, and it'll be f-f-finished fair. We'll take what's comin' to us, and git out of it the best we can. Anyhow," says he, beginning to shake all over, "it'll be the f-funniest thing that ever happened in Wicksville."
"Yes," says I, "I'll bet we laugh like anythin' at it when our folks come to the hospital to tell us about it. A tie," says I. "Think of the row them women will make when they find out they're tied."
"I'm t-thinkin' about it," says Mark.
CHAPTER XXII
There wasn't anything for us fellows to do but to go through with the thing now. We couldn't very well duck out and then ever show our faces again in Wicksville. So right after supper we went down and opened up the hall where the food show was, and got things ready for the massacre.
I kind of wished the times that Mark played games about would come back for a while. I mean when knights and such-like fellows went around with cast-iron nightgowns on so that you couldn't hurt them without you found the combination to the safe and got the door open. That's what Mark calls a mixed metaphor. It says what I mean, so I don't care what he calls it. Anyhow, I don't believe he knows what he's talking about.
Well, about seven o'clock the crowd began to come. They came in a jam.
There was to be a program, and at the end of it the announcement was to be made who had won the contest. The program started up at eight o'clock, and meanwhile all of us but Mark had been back at the _Trumpet_ office, helping get out the paper. That was to be part of the evening's excitement, too.
Pretty soon folks began to get tired of the program and began to yell for the decision of the contest. It kept getting louder and louder, till Mark judged it was best to let them have it.
"I'll d-do it," says he. "I'm the one that t-thought it up, so I'll make the announcement and t-take what's comin'. You fellers better skip."
"Nix," I says. "We're goin' to be right with you."
"What you git we git," says Plunk.
We listened and could hear the folks stamping their feet and clapping and yelling.
"Who won? Who won?" they started to yell over and over.
"Here goes," says Mark, and out he went. We stuck right to his heels.
The first thing I noticed, even in all that crowd, was Rock standing over at one side, and with a hand on his shoulder was the big man that we saw getting off the train. I nudged Plunk, and _he_ looked, and Rock saw us and waved his hand.
Mark began. He made a regular speech, and it kept getting longer and longer, because he hated to come to the point and announce that nobody had won and that it was a tie. But he had to at last, because folks began to holler again.
Finally he says, "T-this has been a wonderful contest, ladies and gentlemen. There hain't ever been sich a contest in Wicksville, and-if I got anything to d-d-do with it-there'll never be another." I believed _that_ all right.
"The l-ladies," says he, "has proved some-thin'. They have p-proved that nobody in the world kin beat the wimmin of Wicksville-not even the wimmin of Wicksville themselves." He stopped and looked around, and though he was pretty uncertain in his mind, he grinned jest as calm as a cabbage.
"The number of subscriptions got by the Home Culturers," says he, "is four hunderd and f-f-forty-six."
There was yells and stamping from the Home Culturers.
"The n-number of subscriptions got by the Lit'ry Circlers is four hunderd and f-f-forty-six," says he.
There was yells and stamping, but all of a sudden they stopped, and somebody yelled, "What's that?"
"It's a tie," says Mark. "B-both got the s-same number."
For a minute folks jest looked at one another, and then Mrs. Strubber and Mrs. Bobbin jumped to their feet and began talking at once. I could catch sich words as "cheat," and "put-up job," and "crooked," and like that.
"L-ladies," says Mark, "you've kept count of how many subscriptions you got, hain't you?"
"Yes," says both of 'em.
"What's your count, Mrs. Strubber?" says he.
"We got the number you said, but _they_ never did. Our number is right.
But them wimmin-why, we must 'a' beat 'em by fifty."
"Mis' Bobbin," says Mark, "how do you make your c-count?"
"We make it same as yourn for us," says she, "but them Lit'ry Circlers didn't come within ninety of us. I _know_," says she.
"L-ladies and gentlemen," says Mark, "both ladies says their c-count agrees with mine. Both m-makes their n-number f-four hunderd and f-f-forty-six. I guess that shows this contest was on the s-square. If it wasn't d'you think I'd 'a' dared stand up here and announce it was a tie?"
"Don't see how you dared, anyhow," yelled Uncle Ike Bond. "I wouldn't 'a' done it for a farm."
"What we goin' to do?" says Mrs. Strubber. "We can't leave this here undecided now. The town wouldn't never git over it. Somebody got to be the champeen."
"You bet," says Mrs. Bobbin, "and the Home Culturers has got to be it. I guess our husbands hain't goin' to stand around and let us git done out of our rights."
"I guess ourn hain't either," says Mrs. Strubber, and right there it sure looked like the furniture was going to get busted.
Then Mark got an idea.
"L-ladies," says he, "I got a way out of it. T-there's a man here that hain't subscribed. Git him up here, and let them two clubs argue him into t-takin' a subscription, and the side that gits him wins."
They thought that over a minute, and then agreed.