oon saw that they were sincere, or were playing the part of
sincerity; he therefore spoke for the cause, for the party to which they
belonged; surely they wouldn't abandon the struggle because a leader had
deserted them! His words and manner; his appeal to their combativeness;
his earnestness and good temper were successful. The storm of invective
gradually subsided, and although one or two, for the sake of a row,
sought to insult him, they did not go to extremes in face of the
resolute disapprobation of the American party-leaders. Loyalty to their
shibboleth was beginning to draw them, still grumbling and making use of
expressive imprecations, on the way to the nearest polling-station, when
one of their leaders drew Professor Roberts aside, and asked him:

"Are the bhoys to have nothin' for their throuble? Half a day they'll
lose, so they will--a dollar each now would be no more than fair--"

The Professor shook his head; he was not rich, he said, and had already
spent more money in the contest than he could afford.

"Be gob, it's poor worruk this talkin' an' votin' for us that gets
nothin' by it "--the phrase stuck in his memory as illustrating the
paltry baseness of the whole affair. It was with a sense of relief that
he threw himself again into the turmoil that served to deaden thought.
As the day wore towards evening he became conscious of fatigue, a
weariness that was not of the body alone, but of the head and heart.
After the closing of the polls he returned to the Central Rooms. They
were filled with an enthusiastic crowd, most of whom professed to
believe that the Democratic party had won all along the line. Roberts
found it hard to bear their self-gratulation and the exuberance of their
triumph, but when Simpson began to take the liberties of comradeship
with him, the cup ran over. He cut the man short with a formally polite
phrase, and betook himself to his house. He would not think even of May;
her image brought him face to face with her father; and he wanted rest.

In the morning the Professor awoke with a feeling of utter depression.
Before he opened the paper he was sure that his hopelessness had been
justified. He was right--Gulmore had carried his whole ticket, and
Simpson had been beaten by a majority of more than a thousand. The
Democratic organ did not scruple to ascribe the defeat to the fact that
Lawyer Hutchings had sold his party. The simulated indignation of the
journalist found expression in