ecturers were hoarse, industry was at a standstill, misery and despair
were widespread. Even the indomitable Chuff himself was a little
nonplussed. Better (he thought) one man indubitably, decorously,
publicly, and legally drunk, than millions of citizens privily
attempting to cajole raisins and apples into illicit sprightliness.

The citizens went to the polls in a mood of exalted self-denial. They
knew that they were voting away their own rights, but they also knew
that their private ideals would be more than realized in the legalized
frenzy of their representative. Bleak, appearing on the balcony of his
hotel, smiled affectionately on the loyal faces that cheered him from
below. He was deeply moved. To Quimbleton (who was supporting him from
behind) he said: "Their generosity is wonderful. I shall try to be
worthy of their confidence. I hope I may have strength to put into
practice the frustrated desires of these noble people."

The result of the polling was to be announced by a searchlight from the
City Hall. A white beam sweeping eastward would mean the election of
Purplevein. A white beam sweeping westward would mean the triumph of
Miss Absinthe. A steady red beam cast upward toward the zenith would
indicate the victory of Bleak.

At ten o'clock that night a scream of cheers burst from millions of
people packed along the city streets. A clear, glowing shaft of red
light leaped upward into the sky. Dunraven Bleak had been elected
Perpetual Souse.

Purplevein, who was rather a decent sort, hastened to Bleak's hotel to
offer his congratulations. Bleak, who was sitting quietly with Mrs.
Bleak, Quimbleton and Theodolinda, greeted him calmly. Poor Purplevein
was very much broken up, and Quimbleton and Theodolinda, in the
goodness of their hearts, arranged a quiet little seance for his
benefit. They all sat their drinking psychic Three-Star in honor of the
event. As Quimbleton said, helping Purplevein back to his motor--"Hitch
your flagon to a Star."

CHAPTER X

E PLURIBUS UNUM!

Virgil and Theodolinda were returning from their honeymoon, which they
had spent touring in Quimbleton's Spad plane. They had been in South
America most of the time, where they found charming hosts eager to
console them for the tragical developments in the northern continent.

It was a superb morning in early autumn when they were flying homeward.
Beneath them lay the green and level meadows of New Jersey, and the
dusky violet