The good old farmer, whose fine sense of honor would not permit him to sell his vote, said:
"Jack, you and Jim must vote for Hamblin; give us your ballots, Miller."
The ballots deposited in the box, Farmer Johnson, one of the upholders of our free institutions, received a five-dollar greenback for performing his duty as a patriot. This was only one instance, many of the same character occurring during the day.
Paddy Sullivan was at the polling district, and as the "b'ys" came up, said:
"Now, thin! here's your clane ticket—sthand aside and let the voters come up. Here, Misther Inspecthor, take this ballot. Be jabers, thim's the regular clane ticket, an' it's meself as knows how to git 'em in! Whoop 'em in, b'ys!"
Crowding his fat form before those voting against his candidate, at every opportunity, and challenging them, he ruled despotically, and respectable men looked approval.
"Arrah! Paddy Sullivan is no slouch, and when yees wants the ballot kept clane, I'm the daisy to do it."
Men ran hither and thither; Miller's aids receiving orders flew off, returning with those to be "seen." Whispering consultations were held, ballots distributed and deposited, the corrupted voters thereafter receiving pasteboard checks representing the amount agreed upon. In a small room in another part of the building the holders, presenting the checks, received their cash.
During the afternoon the excitement increased, the purchasable voters flocking about Miller and Paddy Sullivan, the latter standing near the ballot-box and making himself obnoxious to all voting the other ticket. He assumed to instruct the inspectors of election about their duties, and these officials feared to dispute his authority, in many instances their decisions being forestalled by him. Those of the other party were at his mercy, and the power of a pothouse politician was absolute. He was especially abusive to those of his own political party who voted for Daley, and soon after noon the Daley crowd becoming demoralized were driven from the polls.