THE REPRESENTATIVE OF THE PEOPLE.
In a few moments they were sauntering along the street. It was full and
murmurous. The lights were bright in the shop windows, and the scuffling
of footsteps, more audible than during the day, when it is drowned by the
roar of carriage-wheels upon the pavement, had a friendly, social sound.
"Broadway is never so pleasant as in the early evening," said Mr. Bennet;
"for then the rush of the day is over, and people move with a leisurely
air, as if they were enjoying themselves. What is that?"
They were going down the street, and saw lights, and heard music and a
crowd approaching. They came nearer; and Mr. Bennet and his wife turned
aside, and stood upon the steps of a dwelling-house. A band of music came
first, playing "Hail Columbia!" It was surrounded by a swarm of men and
boys, in the street and on the sidewalk, who shouted, and sang, and ran;
and it was followed by a file of gentlemen, marching in pairs. Several of
them carried torches, and occasionally, as they passed under a house,
they all looked up at the windows, and gave three cheers. Sometimes,
also, an individual in the throng shouted something which was received
with loud hi-hi's and laughter.
"What is it?" asked Mrs. Bennet.
"This is a political procession, my dear. Look! they will not come by us
at all; they are turning into Grand Street, close by. I suppose they are
going to call upon some candidate. I never see any crowd of this kind
without thinking how simple and beautiful our institutions are. Do you
ever think of it, Lucia? What a majestic thing the popular will is!"
"Let's hurry, and we may see something," said his wife.
The throng had left Broadway, and had stopped in Grand Street under a
balcony in a handsome house. The music had stopped also, and all faces
were turned toward the balcony. Mr. Bennet and his wife stood at the
corner of Broadway. Suddenly a gentleman took off his hat and waved
it violently in the air, and a superb diamond-ring flashed in the
torch-light as he did so, while he shouted,
"Three cheers for Newt!"
There was a burst of huzzas from the crowd--the drums rolled--the boys
shrieked and snarled in the tone of various animals--the torches
waved--one excited man cried, "One more!"--there was another stentorian
yell, and roll, and wave--after which the band played a short air. But
the windows did not open.
"Newt! Newt! Newt!" shouted the crowd. The young gentleman with the
diamond-ring disappeared into the house, with several others.
"Why, Slugby, where the devil is he?" said one of them to another, in a
whisper, as they ran up the stairs.
"I'm sure I don't know. Musher promised to have him ready."
"And I sent Ele up to get here before we did," replied his friend, in the
same hurried whisper, his fat nose glistening in the hall-light.
When they reached Mr. Newt's room they found him lying upon a sofa, while
Musher and the Honorable B.J. Ele were trying to get him up.
"D----n it! stand up, can't you?" cried Mr. Ele.
"No, I can't," replied Abel, with a half-humorous maudlin smile.
At the same moment the impetuous roar of the crowd in the street stole in
through the closed windows.
"Newt! Newt! Newt!"
"What in ---- shall we do?" gasped Mr. Enos Slugby, walking rapidly up
and down the room.
"Who let him get drunk?" demanded General Belch, angrily.
Nobody answered.
"Newt! Newt! Newt!" surged in from the street.
"Thunder and devils, there's nothing for it but to prop him up on the
balcony!" said General Belch. "Come now, heave to, every body, and stick
him on his pins."
Abel looked sleepily round, with his eyes half closed and his under lip
hanging.
"'Tain't no use," said he, thickly; "'tain't no use."
And he leered and laughed.
The perspiring and indignant politicians grasped him--Slugby and William
Condor under the arms, Belch on one side, and Ele ready to help any
where. They raised their friend to his feet, while his head rolled slowly
round from one side to the other, with a maudlin grin.
"'Tain't no use," he said.
Indeed, when they had him fairly on his feet nothing further seemed to be
possible. They were all holding him and looking very angry, while they
heard the loud and imperative--"Newt! Newt! Newt!" accompanied with
unequivocal signs of impatience in an occasional stone or chip that
rattled against the blinds.
In the midst of it all the form of the drunken man slipped back upon the
sofa, and sitting there leaning on his hands, which rested on his knees,
and with his head heavily hanging forward, he lifted his forehead, and,
seeing the utterly discomfited group standing perplexed before him, he
said, with a foolish smile,
"Let's all sit down."
There was a moment of hopeless and helpless inaction. Then suddenly
General Belch laid his hands upon the sofa on which Abel was lying, and
moved it toward the window.
"Now," cried he to the others, "open the blinds, and we'll make an end of
it."
Enos Slugby raised the window and obeyed. The crowd below, seeing the
opening blinds and the lights, shouted lustily.
"Now then," cried the General, "boost him up a moment and hold him
forward. Heave ho! all together."
They raised the inert body, and half-lifted, half-slid it forward upon
the narrow balcony.
"Here, Slugby, you prop him behind; and you, Ele and Condor, one on each
side. There! that's it! Now we have him. I'll speak to the people."
So saying, the General removed his hat and bowed very low to the crowd in
the street. There was a great shout, "Three cheers for Newt!" and the
three cheers rang loudly out.
"'Tain't Newt," cried a sharp voice: "it's Belch."
"Three cheers for Belch!" roared an enthusiastic somebody.
"D---- Belch," cried the sharp voice.
"Hi! hi!" roared the chorus; while the torches waved and the drums rolled
once more.
During all this time General Arcularius Belch had been bowing profoundly
and grimacing in dumb show to the crowd, pointing at Abel Newt, who
stood, ingeniously supported, his real state greatly concealed by the
friendly night.
"Gentlemen!" cried Belch, in a piercing voice.
"H'st! h'st! Down, down! Silence," in the crowd.
"Gentlemen, I am very sorry to have to inform you that our distinguished
fellow-citizen, Mr. Newt, to compliment whom you have assembled this
evening, is so severely unwell (oh! gum! from the sharp-voiced skeptic
below) that he is entirely unable to address you. But so profoundly
touched is he by your kindness in coming to compliment him by this call,
that he could not refuse to appear, though but for a moment, to look the
thanks he can not speak. At the earliest possible moment he promises
himself the pleasure of addressing you. Let me, in conclusion, propose
three cheers for our representative in the next Congress, the Honorable
Abel Newt. And now--" he whispered to his friends as the shouts began,
"now lug him in again."
The crowd cheered, the Honorable Mr. Newt was lugged in, the windows were
closed, and General Belch and his friends withdrew.
"I tell you what it is," said he, as they passed up the street at a
convenient distance behind the crowd, "Abel Newt is a man of very great
talent, but he must take care. By Jove! he must. He must understand times
and seasons. One thing can not be too often repeated," said he,
earnestly, "if a man expects to succeed in political life he must
understand when not to be drunk."
The merry company laughed, and went home with Mr. William Condor to crack
a bottle of Champagne.
Mr. and Mrs. Bennet had stood at the street corner during the few minutes
occupied by these events. When they heard the shouts for Newt they had
looked inquiringly at each other. But when the scene was closed, and the
cheers for the Honorable Abel Newt, our representative in Congress, had
died away, they stood for a few moments quite stupefied.
"What does it mean, Gerald?" asked his wife. "Is Abel Newt in Congress?"
"I didn't know it. I suppose he is only a candidate."
He moved rapidly away, and his wife, who was not used to speed in his
walking, smiled quietly, and, could he have seen her eye, a little
mischievously. She said presently,
"Yes, our institutions are very simple and beautiful."
Mr. Bennet said nothing. But she relentlessly continued,
"What a majestic thing the election of Abel Newt by the popular will will
be!"
"My dear," he answered, "don't laugh until you know that it _is_ the
popular will; and when you do know it, cry."
They walked on silently for some little distance further, and then Gerald
Bennet turned toward St. John's Square. His wife asked:
"Where are you going?"
"Can't you guess?"
"Yes; but we have never been there before."
"Has he ever failed before?"
"No, you dear soul! and I am very glad we are going."