Ballarat made holiday.
Early as Mahony left home, he met a long line of conveyances heading
townwards--spring carts, dogcarts, double and single buggies, in some
of which, built to seat two only, five or six persons were huddled.
These and similar vehicles drew up in rows outside the public-houses,
where the lean, long-legged colonial horses stood jerking at their
tethers; and they were still there, still jerking, when he passed again
toward evening. On a huge poster the "Unicorn" offered to lunch free all
those "thinking men" who registered their vote for "the one and only
true democrat, the miners' friend and tyrants' foe, John Turnham."
In the hope of avoiding a crush Mahony drove straight to the
polling-booth. But already all the loafers and roughs in the place seemed
to be congregated round the entrance, after the polite custom of the
country to chivy, or boo, or huzza those who went in. In waiting his turn,
he had to listen to comments on his dress and person, to put up with
vulgar allusions to blue pills and black draughts.
Just as he was getting back into his buggy John rode up, flanked by a
bodyguard of friends; John was galloping from booth to booth, to verify
progress and put the thumbscrew on wobblers. He beamed--as well he
might. He was certain to be one of the two members elected, and quite
likely to top the poll by a respectable majority.
For once Mahony did not grumble at his outlying patients; was only too
thankful to turn his back on the town.
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