at this hilarity. Out of the group rose Colonel Gideon, his long frame
unfolding with the angularity of a carpenter's two-foot rule. There
were little dabs of purple on his knobby cheek-bones. His hair and
his beard bristled. He put up his two fists as far as his arms would
reach and vibrated them, like a furious Jeremiah calling down curses.

Such ferocious mien had its effect on the spectators after a time.
Smyrna quailed before her ancient tyrant, even though he was
dethroned.

"Almighty God has always wanted an excuse to destroy this town like
Sodom and Gomorrah was destroyed," he shouted, his voice breaking
into a squeal of rage; "now He's got it."

He drove his pointed cap onto his head, gave a parting shake of his
fists that embraced moderator, voters, walls, floor, roof, and all
appurtenances of the town house, and stalked down the aisle and out.
The silence in town meeting was so profound that the voters heard
him welting his horse as he drove away.

After a time the moderator drew a long breath, and stated that he
did not see Cap'n Aaron Sproul in the meeting, and had been informed
that he was not present.

"I come past his place this mornin'," whispered Old Man Jordan to
his neighbor on the settee, "and he was out shovelin' snow off'm the
front walk, and when I asked him if he wa'n't comin' to town meetin',
he said that a run of the seven years' itch and the scurvy was pretty
bad, but he reckoned that politics was wuss. I should hate to be the
one that has to break this news to him."