Finally the returns were all in. Then came the tedious task of figuring the totals, for on this depended the result of the election, and finding out which party had won. “Click! Click! Click!” went the adding machines. Number after number the reporters called off. Upstairs in the composing room the type-machines were working overtime. Everyone was under a great strain. Seconds seemed like minutes. At times, during a lull, the ticking of the clock sounded like the firing of a rifle. In corners of the room experts were figuring pluralities and majorities. Other reporters were writing interviews with winning or losing candidates. Still others were describing the scenes on the streets, the torchlight processions, the happenings at the political headquarters, and telling what the effect of the Board of Aldermen changing from one party to the other would be. There was not an idle person in the room. The city editor was here, there, everywhere. He seemed to be carrying the responsibility of a dozen men. He was telling everyone to hurry, as it was time for the morning extra to be out on the street. At last the final additions were made. The last computations were completed. “The Independents have won!” was the cry. “Hurrah!” came the shouts from outside. The last form was sent down. The stereotypers were working like mad. The hungry presses were waiting. The engine was at full steam. Out from the casting machine came the half-curved plates of type from which the papers were to be printed. Half-naked men clamped them upon the cylinders. They contained the thousands of figures that told the story of the battle of the ballots. The last plate was slapped into place. “All ready!” cried the foreman. A bell rang. The engine started. There was a subdued roar. There was a rattle, a bang, a throb of the basement floor. Then came a shrill screech as the belts gripped the wheels, and the machinery started. In another instant the roar became a steady thunder, and hundreds of papers a minute began falling from the presses. The election extra was out. CHAPTER XIX A QUEER LETTER It was just getting dawn when the reporters, editors, and copy readers, who had worked so hard on the extra, stopped, and had a breathing spell. Down in the street the newsboys were crying their wares in shrill tones. The thoroughfares were almost deserted, however, save by a few night-workers who were hurrying home. In a little while, though, they would be thronged by crowds anxious to buy papers, to scan the returns, for not everyone remains up late enough to find out who is elected. Larry thought, now that the paper was out, there would be a chance for all hands to go to bed, and get some sleep. But as the _Leader_ was an afternoon paper, and the election extra was a sort of side line, the entire force, without having had a wink of sleep, had to turn in and get ready for the regular issue.