"
As he neared the polls in the slow succession of advancing voters,
Benito was beset by a rabble of low-voiced, rough-dressed men, who
thrust their favorite tickets into his hands and bade him vote as
indicated, often in a threatening manner. Raucously they tried to cry
each other down. "Here's for Geary and the good old council," one would
shout. "Geary and his crowd forever."
"We've had the old one too long," a red-shirted six-footer bellowed.
"Fresh blood for me. We want sidewalks and clean streets."
This provoked a chorus of "Aye! Aye! That's the ticket, pard," until a
satirical voice exclaimed, "Clean streets and sidewalks! Gor a'mighty.
He's dreamin' o' Heaven!"
A roar of laughter echoed round the town at this sally. It was repeated
everywhere. The campaign slogan was hastily dropped.
At the polling desk Benito found himself behind a burly Kanaka sailor,
dark as an African.
"I contest his vote," cried one of the judges. "If he's an American, I'm
a Hottentot."
"Where were you born?" asked the challenging judge of election.
"New York," whispered a voice in the Kanaka's ear, and he repeated the
word stammeringly. "Where was your father born?" came the second
question, and again the word was repeated.
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