The election would come on again, as happened commonly enough.

Bingham could point to the opening, in a few days, of a big flour-milling industry across the river, which would help; operations on the Drill Hall and the Post-Office would be hurried on at once, and the local party organization would be thoroughly overhauled.

Bingham had good reason for believing that they could entirely regain their lost ground, and at the same time dissipate the dangerous impression that South Fox was being undermined.

Their candidate gave a reluctant ear to it all, and in the end agreed to everything.
So that Chief Joseph Fry--the White Clam Shell of his own lost fires--was never allowed the chance of making good the election losses of that year, as he had confidently expected to do when the charge came on; nor was it given to any of the Yellow Dogs and Red Feathers of Mr Cruickshank's citation to boast at the tribal dog-feasts of the future, of the occasion on which they had bested "de boss." Neither was any further part in public affairs, except by way of jocular reference, assigned to Finnigan's cat.

The proceedings of the court abruptly terminated, the judges reported the desirability of a second contest, and the public accepted with a wink.