"FELL' CITIZENS!" continued the Captain, "now these vile tools o' Mulca-a-hy silenced, warntellye I'm can'date School 'Spector in this ward. Fuss place, I'm only reg'l can'date. Secun' place, I feel great int'st mor'l wants of all your chi-i-ld'n, Masay they are my own child'n, Go'bless'em. Third place, my dear FELL' CIT'Z'NS, if yer'll jess step in ter Phil Rooney's 'fore ye vote, yer'll find some whi-i-sky there; and that--that's bess arg'ment, after all."
Having reached the logical end of the first and last speech ever made in public by Captain Tonkins, the Captain tumbled out of his sleigh, and sprawled upon the snow; whereat the bystanders shouted for joy, and the widow Slapman and two large windows full of guests shook with laughter.
"'S pla-at-form fall'n'?" asked the Captain.
"Yes," replied one of the citizens, humoring the idea; "the platform gave way, and you tumbled to the ground."
"I--I'no' who di't," resumed the Captain. "Them Mulca'men. They saw-awed posts." Here the Captain descried two widow Slapmans smiling on him from a window, and gallantly kissed his hand at them.
His heavy body was tumbled into the rear of the sleigh, a buffalo robe thrown over it, and Captain Tonkins was then unconsciously borne toward the bosom of his family, in Minetta lane (a friend officiating as driver), amid the cheers of his late audience.
The three bachelors were satiated with their day's experiences. They raised their hats to Mrs. Slapman, still laughing at the window, and walked smartly home. Mr. Quigg, deriving much comfort from the thought that Captain Tonkins had not been paid for his sleigh, and would not be, hastened to a neighboring stable, hired the only remaining team, and continued his round of calls, giving one minute to each.