“This is a political procession, my dear. Look! they will not come by us at all; they are turning into Grand Street, close by. I suppose they are going to call upon some candidate. I never see any crowd of this kind without thinking how simple and beautiful our institutions are. Do you ever think of it, Lucia? What a majestic thing the popular will is!”
“Let’s hurry, and we may see something,” said his wife.
The throng had left Broadway, and had stopped in Grand Street under a balcony in a handsome house. The music had stopped also, and all faces were turned toward the balcony. Mr. Bennet and his wife stood at the corner of Broadway. Suddenly a gentleman took off his hat and waved it violently in the air, and a superb diamond-ring flashed in the torch-light as he did so, while he shouted,
“Three cheers for Newt!”
There was a burst of huzzas from the crowd—the drums rolled—the boys shrieked and snarled in the tone of various animals—the torches waved—one excited man cried, “One more!”—there was another stentorian yell, and roll, and wave—after which the band played a short air. But the windows did not open.
“Newt! Newt! Newt!” shouted the crowd. The young gentleman with the diamond-ring disappeared into the house, with several others.
“Why, Slugby, where the devil is he?” said one of them to another, in a whisper, as they ran up the stairs.
“I’m sure I don’t know. Musher promised to have him ready.”
“And I sent Ele up to get here before we did,” replied his friend, in the same hurried whisper, his fat nose glistening in the hall-light.
When they reached Mr. Newt’s room they found him lying upon a sofa, while Musher and the Honorable B.J. Ele were trying to get him up.