The result of the fourth ballot was announced, and bedlam broke loose.
The Honourable Giles Henderson of Kingston has.. 419 The Honourable Humphrey Crewe of Leith has.... 337 The Honourable Adam B. Hunt of Edmundton has... 256
Total, one thousand and eleven out of a thousand! Two delegates abstained from voting, and proclaimed the fact, but were heard only a few feet away. Other delegates, whose flesh and blood could stand the atmosphere no longer, were known to have left the hall! Aha! the secret is out, if anybody could hear it. At the end of every ballot several individuals emerge and mix with the crowd in the street. Astute men sometimes make mistakes, and the following conversation occurs between one of the individuals in question and Mr. Crewe's chauffeur.
Individual: “Do you want to come in and see the convention and
vote?”
Chauffeur: “I am Frenchman.”
Individual: “That doesn't cut any ice. I'll make out the ballot,
and all you'll have to do is to drop it in the box.”
Chauffeur: “All right; I vote for Meester Crewe.”
Sudden disappearance of the individual.
Nor is this all. The Duke of Putnam, for example, knows how many credentials there are in his county—say, seventy-six. He counts the men present and voting, and his result is sixty-one. Fifteen are absent, getting food or—something else. Fifteen vote over again. But, as the human brain is prone to error, and there are men in the street, the Duke miscalculates; the Earl of Haines miscalculates, too. Result—eleven over a thousand votes, and some nine hundred men in the hall!
How are you going to stop it? Mr. Watling climbs up on the platform and shakes his fist in General Doby's face, and General Doby tearfully appeals for an honest ballot—to the winds.
In the meantime the Honourable Elisha Jane, spurred on by desperation and thoughts of a 'dolce far niente' gone forever; has sought and cornered Mr. Bascom.
“For God's sake, Brush,” cries the Honourable Elisha, “hasn't this thing gone far enough? A little of it is all right—the boys understand that; but have you thought what it means to you and me if these blanked reformers get in,—if a feller like Austen Vane is nominated?”
That cold, hard glitter which we have seen was in Mr. Bascom's eyes.