. These returns from the
townships were almost entirely in Bradley's favor, but Cedarville was
the decisive vote. Messengers from the little telegraph station dashed
to and fro, and the excitement was fanned into greater fury by the
accounts of Democratic gains from other counties and other States. "It
is a political landslide," exclaimed Mason. "The Democrats are in it
this time."

At length there rose the cry of "Cedarville! Cedarville!" and a
messenger bearing a telegraph blank was rushed through to the
reading-desk, where his message was snatched by the clerk. Again there
was a wild surge toward the desk, and a silence, broken only by
derisive cheers from the boys, while the clerk glanced over it.

"Cedarville gives seventy votes for Kimball, and a hundred and ten for
Talcott."

The Independents shouted themselves hoarse, and flung their caps in the
air. Talcott had carried both of the towns of the county; he was sure
of the farmers. The boys howled like savages, and tripped each other
over the railings and seats, boxed hats, punched the men in the back,
and hid around their legs; while the clerk went on with his reading, at
more and more frequent intervals, of reports from other States and
districts of the congressional field. The old-line Democrats were
delirious with joy. The promised land was in sight.

It was about half past twelve o'clock when Colonel Russell conceded
Bradley's election, and two stout men toiled up the stairs, bringing
his forfeit of two barrels of apples. Amid wild yells from the crowd,
they threw the barrels to the floor, where they burst, and sent
Northern Spys rolling in every direction.

Then came a wilder roar and scramble, that outdid everything that had
gone before, and a surging mass of struggling men and boys covered the
apples. They threw themselves upon each other's backs. They clawed like
wild-cats, barked like wolves. They kicked each other out of the way,
and scratched and mauled each other, crushing hats, tearing coats,
bruising shins. As fast as one man filled his hands or arms or pockets,
the others set upon him, struck them from his arm, snatched them from
his hands, tore them from his pockets, or tripped him headlong to the
floor, where he rolled in the filthy sawdust, under the feet of the
crazy mob.

The wrestle of starving wild hogs for corn or potatoes could not have
been more tumultuous or ear-splitting than this ferocious, jovial
scramble. It ceased only when