It was no longer an individual struggle, but a party contest between the ins and outs.

The question was, whether the withering influence of the overseers, the domination of the churchwardens, and the blighting despotism of the vestry-clerk, should be allowed to render the election of beadle a form--a nullity: whether they should impose a vestry-elected beadle on the parish, to do their bidding and forward their views, or whether the parishioners, fearlessly asserting their undoubted rights, should elect an independent beadle of their own.
The nomination was fixed to take place in the vestry, but so great was the throng of anxious spectators, that it was found necessary to adjourn to the church, where the ceremony commenced with due solemnity.

The appearance of the churchwardens and overseers, and the ex-churchwardens and ex-overseers, with Spruggins in the rear, excited general attention.
Spruggins was a little thin man, in rusty black, with a long pale face, and a countenance expressive of care and fatigue, which might either be attributed to the extent of his family or the anxiety of his feelings.
His opponent appeared in a cast-off coat of the captain's--a blue coat with bright buttons; white trousers, and that description of shoes familiarly known by the appellation of 'high-lows.' There was a serenity in the open countenance of Bung--a kind of moral dignity in his confident air--an 'I wish you may get it' sort of expression in his eye--which infused animation into his supporters, and evidently dispirited his opponents.
The ex-churchwarden rose to propose Thomas Spruggins for beadle.

He had known him long.

He had had his eye upon him closely for years; he had watched him with twofold vigilance for months.