The men and women in the Boston Club last night were never worried about winning. The figures on the blackboard had told them early in the evening that their candidate, Louise Day Hicks, would win with more than 60 per cent of the vote.

And yet, as they sat in the main room of the club ("The Body Shop") amid racing pennants and rows of hubcaps, there was little exuberance-hardly more than a steady murmur rising and falling to the sounds of Eddie Barden's quartet.

They sat around the tables in groups of six and eight, conversing over half-filled cups of coffee and glasses of Budweiser. The women, most of them middle-aged and as stout as their candidate, huddled together while their husbands leaned over the tables, staring at the intruding reporters and TV men.

Most of them were campaign workers who wore their white and Kelly-green ribbons ("I'm for Louise") proudly-badges of other campaigns in the '60s for the School Board, for Mayor, for City Council, and now, for Congress.

Joseph Casper, the 29-year-old campaign manager for Mrs. Hicks, stood talking to reporters by the stage, explaining that the candidate "had never made any pre-judicial move" in the campaign. A lone waitress passed by with an empty tray and he said, "They're not drinking tonight, are they?"

Finally, at exactly 10:15 p.m., the terrible suspense ended. "All right, ladies and gentlemen, the moment you've all been waiting for," the MC said from the stage.

Suddenly, the TV lights were on, the crowd was on its feet, the band was playing "Every Little Breeze Seems To Whisper Louise" and the men and women, without exception, were clapping and bouncing with glee for the 54-year-old grandmother.

Louise kept the crowd waiting for an excruciating 90 seconds and then began her trek up the aisle of supporters, stopping to kiss men and women alike but moving forward with the savvy of a pro.

"You know the people of Boston have been so good to me for so many years," she said with her tiny, little-girl voice as she stood before the cameras in her black satin dress (below the knees), black stockings and white kid gloves.

She told them that the "Middle American must not be afraid and frustrated" and then said that it was their night. "This has been a victory of nine hard years of campaigning . . . and together we will go forward to bigger and better things."

It was a short speech, only five minutes, but the crowd, happy now, didn't mind when she left for her TV interviews. A reporter asked her when she would decide whether to give up her City Council seat (she has hinted she will keep both seats-which is legal) and she said, "That will be a decision for the future."

She left the club, much noisier and busier, entered her limousine and went roaring up Commonwealth Ave. with a police car leading her, sirens blaring.