Thatcher sank into Bassett's swivel chair and swung round once or twice as though testing it, meanwhile eyeing the map.

Then he tipped himself back comfortably and dropped his hat into his lap.

His grayish brown hair was combed carefully from one side across the top in an unsuccessful attempt to conceal his baldness.
"I guess Mort wouldn't object to my sitting in his chair provided I didn't look at that map too much.

Who was the chap that the sword hung over by a hair--Damocles?
Well, maybe that's what that map is--it would smash pretty hard if the whole state fell down on Mort.

But Mort knows just how many voters there are in every township and just how they line up election morning.