"What means this? Have you selected the yellow ticket and not the green
one?"

Leicht hung his head. He thought of the consequences of this detection,
of his four small children, of want of employment, of hunger and bitter
need--he was almost beside himself.

"If you vote for the priests, you may get your bread from the priests,"
said Schwefel. "The moment you hand that ticket to the commissary, you
may consider yourself discharged from my employ." With this he angrily
turned his back upon the man. Leicht did not reach in his ticket to the
commissary. Staggering out of the hall, he stood bewildered hear the
railing of the steps, and stared vaguely upon the men who were coming
and going. Spitzkopf slipped up to him.

"What were you thinking about, man?" asked he reproachfully. "Mr.
Schwefel is furious--you are ruined. Sheer stupidity, nothing but
stupidity in you to wish to vote in opposition to the pleasure of the
man from whom you get your bread and meat! Not only that, but you have
insulted the whole community, for you have chosen to vote against
progress when all the town is in favor of progress. You will be put on
the spotted list, and the upshot will be that you will not get
employment in any factory in town. Do you want to die of hunger,
man--do you want your children to die of hunger?"

"You are right--I am ruined," said the laborer listlessly. "I couldn't
bring myself to write Shund's name because he reduced my brother-in-law
to beggary--this is what made me select the yellow ticket."

"You are a fool. Were Mr. Schwefel to recommend the devil, your duty
would be to vote for the devil. What need you care who is on the
ticket? You have only to write the names on the ticket--nothing more
than that. Do you think progress would nominate men that are unfit--men
who would not promote the interests of the state, who would not further
the cause of humanity, civilization, and liberty? You are a fool for
not voting for what is best for yourself."

"I am sorry now, but it's too late." sighed Leicht. "I wouldn't have
thought, either, that Mr. Schwefel would get angry because a man wanted
to vote to the best of his judgment."

"There you are prating sillily again. Best of your judgment!--you
mustn't have any judgment. Leave it to others to judge; they have more
brains, more sense, more knowledge than you. Progress does the
thinking: our place is to blindly follow its directions."

"But, Mr. Spitzkopf, mine is onl