s mighty fist and began
filling out the ticket with the names of the ultramontane candidates.
Whilst he wrote, whisperings could be heard all through the hall, and
every eye was directed upon him. After no inconsiderable exertion, the
task of filling out the ticket was successfully accomplished, and Holt
arose, leaving the ticket lying upon the table. In the twinkling of an
eye a hand reached forward to take it up.

"What do you mean, sir?" asked Holt sternly.

"That yellow paper defiles the table," hissed the fellow viciously.

"Hand back that ticket," commanded Holt roughly. "I want it to be
here. The yellow ticket has as good a right on this table as the green
one--do you hear me?"

"Slave of the priests!" sputtered his antagonist.

"If I am a slave of the priests, then you are a slave of that villain
Shund," retorted Holt. "I am not to be browbeaten--by such a fellow as
you particularly--least of all by a vile slave of Shund's." He spoke,
and then reached his ticket to the commissary.

"That is an impudent dog," growled leader Sand. "Who is he?"

"He is a countryman of the name of Holt," answered he to whom the query
was addressed.

"We must spot the boor," said Erdfloh. "His swaggering shall not avail
him anything."

Holt was not the only voter that proved refractory. Mr. Schwefel, also,
had a disagreeable surprise. He was standing near the entrance,
observing with great self-complacency how the workmen in his employ
submissively cast their votes for Shund and his associates. Schwefel
regarded himself as of signal importance in the commonwealth, for he
controlled not less than four hundred votes, and the side which it was
his pleasure to favor could not fail of victory. The head of the great
leader seemed in a manner encircled with the halo of progress: whilst
his retainers passed and saluted him, he experienced something akin to
the pride of a field-marshal reviewing a column of his victorious army.

Just then a spare little man appeared in the door. His yellowish,
sickly complexion gave evidence that he was employed in the
sulphurating of straw. At sight of the commander the sulphur-hued
little man shrank back, but his startled look did not escape the
restless eye of Mr. Schwefel. He beckoned to the laborer.

"Have you selected your ticket, Leicht?"

"Yes, sir."

"Let me see the ticket."

The man obeyed reluctantly. Scarcely had Schwefel got a glimpse of the
paper when his brows gathered darkly.