ch emerges State Senator Nat Billings and gets the ear
of General Doby.

"Let 'em yell," says Mr. Billings--as though the general, by raising
one adipose hand, could quell the storm. Eyes are straining, scouts
are watching at the back of the hall and in the street, for the first
glimpse of the dreaded figure of Mr. Thomas Gaylord. "Let 'em yell;"
counsels Mr. Billings, "and if they do nominate anybody nobody'll
hear 'em. And send word to Putnam County to come along on their fifth
ballot."

It is Mr. Billings himself who sends word to Putnam County, in the name
of the convention's chairman. Before the messenger can reach Putnam
County another arrives on the stage, with wide pupils, "Tom Gaylord is
coming!" This momentous news, Marconi-like, penetrates the storm, and is
already on the floor. Mr. Widgeon and Mr. Redbrook are pushing their
way towards the door. The conference, emboldened by terror, marches in
a body into the little room, and surrounds the calmly insane
Lieutenant-general of the forces; it would be ill-natured to say that
visions of lost railroad commissionerships, lost consulships, lost
postmasterships,--yes, of lost senatorships, were in these loyal heads
at this crucial time.

It was all very well (so said the first spokesman) to pluck a few
feathers from a bird so bountifully endowed as the Honourable Adam, but
were not two gentlemen who should be nameless carrying the joke a little
too far? Mr. Vane unquestionably realized what he was doing, but--was
it not almost time to call in the two gentlemen and--and come to some
understanding?

"Gentlemen," said the Honourable Hilary, apparently unmoved, "I have not
seen Mr. Bascom or Mr. Botcher since the sixteenth day of August, and I
do not intend to."

Some clearing of throats followed this ominous declaration,--and a
painful silence. The thing must be said and who would say it? Senator
Whitredge was the hero.

Mr. Thomas Gaylord has just entered the convention hall, and is said
to be about to nominate--a dark horse. The moment was favourable, the
convention demoralized, and at least one hundred delegates had left the
hall. (How about the last ballot, Senator, which showed 1011?)

The Honourable Hilary rose abruptly, closed the door to shut out the
noise, and turned and looked Mr. Whitredge in the eye.

"Who is the dark horse?" he demanded.

The members of the conference coughed again, looked at each other,
and there was a silence. For some inexpl