"Shall we cross to Broadway?" he asked; "the people are more interesting, after all, than the politicians." "The politicians," responded Salvers, "are only interesting viewed through the eyes of the people. No, let's keep to the avenue for a while. I prefer scenting the battle from afar." The sounds grew louder as they walked on, becoming, as they neared Madison Square, a tumultuous medley issuing from tin horns and human throats. Over the ever-moving throngs in the square a shower of sky-rockets shot upward at the overhanging clouds and descended in a rain of orange sparks. The streets were filled with a stream of crushed humanity, which struggled and pushed and panted, presenting to a distant view the effect of a writhing mass of dark-bodied insects. From the tower of the Garden a slender search-light pointed southward, a pale, still finger remaining motionless, while the crowd clamored below and the fireworks exploded in the blackness above. Occasionally, as the white light fell on the moving throng, it exaggerated in distinctness a face here and there, which assumed the look of a grotesque mask, illuminated by an instantaneous flash and fading quickly into the half-light of surrounding shadows. Then another took its place, and the illumination played variations upon the changing features. Suddenly a shrill cheer went up from the streets. "That means Vaden," said Salvers. "Let's move on." They left the square, making their way up Broadway. At the first corner a man offered them papier-mache tigers, at the second roosters, at the third chrysanthemums. "Look at this," said Salvers, drawing aside. "Odd for women, isn't it? Half these girls don't know what they are shrieking about." In the throng jostling past them there were a dozen school-girls, wearing yellow chrysanthemums in their button-holes and carrying small flags in their hands. The light from the windows fell upon their pretty faces, rosy from excitement. Behind them a gang of college students blew deafening blasts on tin trumpets, and on the other side a newsboy was yelling-- "_Eve-ning Wor-ld!_ Vaden elected!--Va-den--!" His voice was drowned in the rising cheers of men politically mad. "I'll go to the club," said Salvers, presently; "this is too deuced democratic. Will you come?" Father Algarcife shook his head. "Not now," he replied. "I'll keep on to Herald Square, then I'll turn in. The fight is over." And he passed on. Upon a white sheet stretched along the side of the _Herald_ building a stereopticon portrait of a candidate appeared, followed by a second, and then by the figures of the latest returns from the election boroughs. Here the crowd had stagnated, and he found difficulty in forcing his way. Then, as the mass swayed back, a woman fainted at his side and was carried into the nearest drug-store.