The writings of John Greenleaf Whittier, Volume 5.
John Greenleaf Whittier, Ed.

Aminadab Ivison was silent, for his conscience spoke in the words of his wife. He slept no more that night, and rose up in the morning a wiser and better man.

When he went forth to his place of business he saw the crowds hurrying to and fro; there were banners flying across the streets, huge placards were on the walls, and he heard all about him the bustle of the great election.

‘Friend Ivison,’ said a red-faced lawyer, almost breathless with his hurry, ‘more money is needed in the second ward; our committees are doing a great work there. What shall I put you down for? Fifty dollars? If we carry the election, your property will rise twenty per cent. Let me see; you are in the iron business, I think?’

Aminadab thought of the little iron soldier of his dream, and excused himself. Presently a bank director came tearing into his office.

‘Have you voted yet, Mr. Ivison? It's time to get your vote in. I wonder you should be in your office now. No business has so much at stake in this election as yours.’

‘I don't think I should feel entirely easy to vote for the candidate,’ said Aminadab.

‘Mr. Ivison,’ said the bank director, ‘I always took you to be a shrewd, sensible man, taking men and things as they are. The candidate may not be all you could wish for; but when the question is between him and a worse man, the best you can do is to choose the least of the two evils.’