e first ballot."

They wrote it down.

"Thank you, Mr. Crewe," they said; "that's the kind of talk we like to
hear."

"And don't forget," said Mr. Crewe, "to mention this reception in the
accounts."

Mr. Tooting, who makes it a point from time to time to reconnoitre,
saunters halfway down-stairs and surveys the crowded rotunda from the
landing. Through the blue medium produced by the burning of many cigars
(mostly Mr. Crewe's) he takes note of the burly form of Mr. Thomas
Gaylord beside that of Mr. Redbrook and other rural figures; he takes
note of a quiet corner with a ring of chairs surrounded by scouts and
outposts, although it requires a trained eye such as Mr. Tooting's to
recognize them as such--for they wear no uniforms. They are, in truth,
minor captains of the feudal system, and their present duties consist (as
Mr. Tooting sees clearly) in preventing the innocent and inquisitive from
unprofitable speech with the Honourable Jacob Botcher, who sits in the
inner angle conversing cordially with those who are singled out for this
honour. Still other scouts conduct some of the gentlemen who have talked
with Mr. Botcher up the stairs to a mysterious room on the second floor.
Mr. Tooting discovers that the room is occupied by the Honourable Brush
Bascom; Mr. Tooting learns with indignation that certain of these guests
of Mr. Bascom's are delegates pledged to Mr. Crewe, whereupon he rushes
back to the bridal suite to report to his chief. The cigars are giving
out again, and the rush has slackened, and he detaches the People's
Champion from the line and draws him to the inner room.

"Brush Bascom's conducting a bourse on the second floor and is running the
price up right along," cried the honest and indignant Mr. Tooting. He's
stringin' Adam Hunt all right. They say he's got Adam to cough up six
thousand extra since five o'clock, but the question is--ain't he
stringin' us? He paid six hundred for a block of ten not quarter of an
hour ago--and nine of 'em were our delegates."

It must be remembered that these are Mr. Tooting's words, and Mr. Crewe
evidently treated them as the product of that gentleman's vivid
imagination. Translated, they meant that the Honourable Adam B. Hunt has
no chance for the nomination, but that the crafty Messrs. Botcher and
Bascom are inducing him to think that he has--by making a supreme effort.
The supreme effort is represented by six thousand dollars.

"Are you going to lie down unde