ation. On the floor and
the stage the chairmen thickened in the fight. Ben Galt had sprung
suddenly into life as Burr's manager, and in the aisle Tom Bassett, in
his shirt sleeves, with a tally sheet in his hand, was inciting his
battalion to victory. About him the Webb men were summing up the votes
needed to bring in their leader. The noise had a dull, baying sound, as
if the general voice were growing hoarse. The odour of good and bad
tobacco was dense and stifling. In the midst of the clamour a drunken
man rose to move that the convention consider the subject in prayer.

Upon the reading of the second ballot the confusion deepened. The name
of Crutchfield went down, and Burr and Webb ran hotly neck to neck. Then
the Crutchfield party, which had held bravely together, began to go
over, and, as each change was made, a shout went up from the successful
force. Hall and Galt had established themselves on opposite sides of the
stage and were working with drawn breath. Galt, with a cigar in his
mouth and a fan in his hand, was the only cool man in the house. He had
caught the wave of popular enthusiasm before it had had time to break,
and he was giving it no ground upon which to settle. Tom Bassett in the
centre aisle was cheering on his workers. He was superb, but the Webb
men were not behind him; it was still neck to neck. Then, at last, with
the third ballot, Burr led off, and the voting was over.

There was a call upon the name of the successful candidate, but before
he stood up the Honourable Cumberland Crutchfield rose to eulogise the
wisdom of the convention in nominating the man he had tried to defeat.
The Caesar of Democracy was beaming, despite his disappointment--a
persistent beam of the flesh.

"Gentlemen, you have made your decision, and it is for me to bow to its
wisdom. In the Honourable Nick Burr your choice has fallen upon the man
who will most incite to ardour each individual voter. His record is a
glorious one,"--for an instant he wavered; then his imagination took a
blinded leap. "He was born a Democrat, he lives a Democrat, he will die
a Democrat. In the life of his revered and lamented father, the late
Alexander P. Burr, he has a shining example of unshaken conviction and
unswerving loyalty to principle. Gentlemen, you have chosen well, and I
pledge myself to uphold your nominee and to be the foremost bearer of
your banner when it waves in next November from the line of Tennessee to
the Atlantic Ocea