Alas, he smiled too soon. The Tories grasped the situation, and, furious at the reception which had fallen to the lot of their leaders, determined that if they were not heard, no one should be heard. Before he could utter another word they broke into rabid bellowings, and what their shouts lacked in volume they made up in ill-will. In a twinkling they drowned White-Hat Williams’s voice; and now who so indignant as the Whigs? In thirty seconds half-a-dozen single combats were proceeding in front of the Tory booth, blood flowed from as many noses, and amid a terrific turmoil respectable men and justices of the peace leant across the barriers and shook their fists and flung frenzied challenges broadcast. All to no purpose. The Tories, though so much the weaker party, though but one to eight, could not be silenced. After making three or four attempts to gain a hearing White-Hat Williams saw that he must reserve his oration: and with a scowl he shouted his names into the ear of the clerk. “Who? Who did he say?” growled the Squire, panting with rage and hoarse with shouting. His face was crimson, his cravat awry, he had lost his hat. “Who? Who?” “Wrench and—one moment, sir!” “Eh? Who do you say?” “I couldn’t hear! One moment, sir! Oh, yes! Wrench and Vaughan!” “Vaughan?” old Rowley cried with a profane oath. “Impossible!” But it was not impossible! Though so great was the surprise, so striking the effect upon Sir Robert’s supporters that for a few seconds something like silence supervened. The serpent! The serpent! Here was a blow indeed—in the back! Then as Blackford, the Methodist, rose to second the nomination, the storm broke out anew and more furiously than before. “What?” foamed the Squire, “be ruled by a rabble of grinning, yelling monkeys? By gad, I’ll leave the country first! I—I hope someone will shoot that young man! I wish I’d never shaken his hand! By G—d, I’m glad my father is in his grave! He’d never ha’ believed this! Never! Never!” And from that time until the poll was declared open—in dumb show—not a word was audible. Then at last the shouting of the rival bands sank to a confused babel of jeers, abuse, and laughter. Exhausted men mopped their faces, voiceless men loosened their neck-cloths, the farthest from the hustings went off to drink, and there was a lull until the sound of a drum and fife announced a new event, and forth from the Heart and Hand advanced a procession of five led by the accursed Dyas. They were the Whig voters and they marched proudly to the front of the polling-booth, the mob falling back on either side to give them place. Dyas flung his hat into the booth. “Wrench and Vaughan!” he cried in a voice which could be heard in the White Lion. “And I care not who knows it!” They put to him the bribery oath. “I can take it,” he answered. “Swallow it yourselves, if you can!” “You should know the taste, Jack,” cried a sly friend: and for a moment the laugh was against him.