ads in silent admiration.
They seemed to themselves to have struck a golden vein, and General Belch
could not help inwardly complimenting himself upon his profound sagacity
in having put forward a candidate who had a bachelor uncle who doated
upon him, and who was worth a million. He perceived at once his own
increased importance in the Party. To have displaced Watkins Bodley--who
was not only an uncertain party implement, but poor--by an unhesitating
young man of great ability and of enormous prospects, he knew was to have
secured for himself whatever he chose to ask. The fat nose reddened and
glistened as if it would burst with triumph and joy. General Arcularius
Belch was satisfied.

"Of course," said William Condor, "a man of Mr. Lawrence Newt's
experience and knowledge of the world is aware that there are certain
necessary expenses attendant upon elections--such as printing, rent,
lighting, warming, posting, etc.--"

"In fact, sundries," said Abel, smiling with the black eyes.

"Yes, precisely; sundries," answered Mr. Condor, "which sometimes swell
to quite an inordinate figure. Your uncle, I presume, Mr. Newt, would not
be unwilling to contribute a certain share of the expense of your
election; and indeed, now that you are so conspicuous a leader, he would
probably expect to contribute handsomely to the current expenses of the
Party. Isn't it so?"

"Of course," said General Belch.

"Of course," said Enos Slugby.

"Of course," echoed the two or three other gentlemen who sat silently,
assiduously smoking and drinking.

"Oh, clearly, of course," answered Abel, still thickly, and in a tone by
no means agreeable to his companions. "What should you consider to be his
fair share?"

"Well," began Condor, "I should think, in ordinary times, a thousand a
year; and then, as particular occasion demands."

At this distinct little speech the whole company lifted their glasses
that they might more conveniently watch Abel.

With a half-maudlin grin he looked along the line.

"By-the-by, Condor, how much do you give a year?" asked he.

There was a moment's silence.

"Hit, by G----!" energetically said one of the silent men.

"Good for Newt!" cried General Belch, thumping the table.

There was another little burst of laughter, with the least possible
merriment in it. William Condor joined with an entirely unruffled face.

"As for Belch," continued Abel, with what would be called in animals an
ugly expression--"B