Sons of Fortune

“If there’s that many, they’ll know where to put their cross, won’t they,” said Nat. “In any case, that’s not the sort of campaign I want to run,” he added. “I’d prefer to assume the voters can make up their own minds which one of us can be trusted.”

“That’s an original idea,” said Tom.

“Well, at least the principal is making it clear that he doesn’t want Elliot to be president,” said Nat.

“I don’t think we should tell anyone that,” said Tom. “It may well swing a few more votes to Elliot.”

“Damn, how did he manage to pull that off?” growled Nat.

“Bribery and corruption would be my bet,” said Jimmy. “Elliot has always been a useful player, but never good enough to make the school team.”

“Do you think they’ll risk putting him in the game?”

“Why not? St. George’s often fields a weak side, so they could leave him out there for a few minutes once they’re confident it won’t affect the result. Then Elliot will spend the rest of the game running up and down the sidelines, waving at the voters, while all we can do is stare down at him from the bleachers.”

“Then let’s make sure all our workers are in position outside the stadium a few minutes before the game ends, and don’t let anyone see our new hand-held placards until Saturday afternoon. That way Elliot won’t have time to come up with his own.”

“You’re learning fast,” said Tom.

“When Elliot’s your opponent, you’re not left with a lot of choice.”

When Nat arrived at the game, his placards were to be seen everywhere, and all that the Elliot supporters could do was cry foul play. Nat and Tom couldn’t hide their smiles as they took their places in the bleachers. The smiles broadened when St. George’s scored early in the first quarter. Nat didn’t want Taft to lose, but no coach was going to risk putting Elliot on the field while St. George’s remained in the lead. And that didn’t change until the final quarter.

Nat shook hands with everyone as they left the stadium, but he knew that Taft’s last-minute victory over St. George’s hadn’t helped his cause, even if Elliot had only been able to run up and down the s

ideline until the last person had left the bleachers.

“Just be thankful he never got into the game,” said Tom.

Over the final weekend, Nat’s workers tried to project an air of confidence, even though they realized it was too close to call. Neither candidate stopped smiling, until Monday evening when the school bell struck six.

“Let’s go back to my room,” said Tom, “and tell stories of the death of kings.”

“Sad stories,” said Nat.

The team all crowded into Tom’s little room and swapped anecdotes of the roles they had played in the campaign, and laughed at jokes that weren’t funny, as they waited impatiently to learn the result.

A loud rap on the door interrupted their noisy exuberance. “Come in,” called Tom.

They all stood up the moment they saw who it was standing in the doorway.

“Good evening, Mr. Anderson,” said Nat.

“Good evening, Cartwright,” replied the dean of students formally. “As the returning officer in the election for president of student government, I have to inform you that due to the closeness of the result, I will be calling for a recount. Assembly has therefore been postponed until eight o’clock.”

“Thank you, sir,” was all Nat could think of saying.

When eight o’clock had struck every boy was seated in his place. They rose dutifully when the dean of students entered the hall. Nat tried to read any sign of the result from the expression on his face, but even the Japanese would have been proud of Mr. Anderson’s inscrutability.

The dean walked to the center of the stage and invited the assembly to be seated. There was a hush, rarely experienced at a normal gathering.

“I must tell you,” began the dean, “that this was the closest result in the school’s seventy-five-year history.” Nat could feel the palms of his hands sweating, as he tried to remain calm. “The voting for president of student council was Nat Cartwright, 178, Ralph Elliot, 181.”

Half the gathering leaped to their feet and cheered, while the other half remained seated and silent. Nat rose from his place, walked across to Elliot and offered his outstretched hand.

The new president ignored it.

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