siness Men of Plattville.
They played in such magnificent time that every high-stepping foot in
all the line came down with the same jubilant plunk, and lifted again
with a unanimity as complete as that of the last vote the convention had
taken that day. The leaders of the procession set a brisk pace, and who
could have set any other kind of a pace when on parade to the strains of
such a band, playing such a tune as "A New Coon in Town," with all its
might and main?

But as the line swung into the Square, there came a moment when the tune
was ended, the musicians paused for breath, and there fell comparative
quiet. Amongst the ranks of Business Men ambled Mr. Wilkerson, singing
at the top of his voice, and now he could be heard distinctly enough
for those near to him to distinguish the melody with which it was his
intention to favor the public:

"Glory! Glory! Hallelujah!
As we go marching on."

The words, the air, that husky voice, recalled to the men of Carlow
another day and another procession, not like this one. And the song
Wilkerson was singing is the one song every Northern-born American knows
and can sing. The leader of the band caught the sound, signalled to his
men; twenty instruments rose as one to twenty mouths; the snare-drum
rattled, the big drum crashed, the leader lifted his baton high over his
head, and music burst from twenty brazen throats:

"Glory! Glory! Hallelujah!"

Instantaneously, the whole procession began to sing the refrain, and the
people in the street, and those in the wagons and carriages, and those
leaning from the windows joined with one accord, the ringing bells
caught the time of the song, and the upper air reverberated in the
rhythm.

The Harkless Club of Carlow wheeled into Main Street, two hundred
strong, with their banners and transparencies. Lige Willetts rode at
their head, and behind him strode young William Todd and Parker and Ross
Schofield and Homer Tibbs and Hartley Bowlder, and even Bud Tipworthy
held a place in the ranks through his connection with the "Herald." They
were all singing.

And, behind them, Helen saw the flag-covered barouche and her father,
and beside him sat John Harkless with his head bared.

She glanced at Briscoe; he was standing on the front seat with Minnie
beside him, and both were singing. Meredith had climbed upon the back
seat and was nervously fumbling at a cigarette.

"Sing, Tom!" the girl cried