Then, alas for human probabilities! five votes in succession were announced for McCormack, so that, with the counting of the fifty-eighth ballot, the two candidates were for the first time tied. Number fifty-nine was for Barriscale; but numbers sixty, sixty-one and sixty-two were all for McCormack, giving him a lead of two votes. For the first time in all the strenuous campaign, the glimmer of hope in Hal’s breast, alternately fading and reappearing, brightened into a steady flame. There were but five more votes to be counted. Surely he might reasonably hope to get two of them. As for Sergeant Barriscale, there was no smile on his lips now. He stared at the tally sheet with incredulous eyes. The votes that he had confidently counted on had not been forthcoming. It was evident that some one, more than one indeed, had played traitor to him. Already the fires of anger were beginning to blaze up in his breast. Had he harbored resentment too soon? It might be; for the next three ballots were for him. On the sixty-fifth count he was one ahead. There were but two more ballots to be counted. Surely he had a right to expect one of these. He grasped at the proverbial straw with the clutch of a drowning man. The excitement in the room was intense but suppressed. Save for the voice of the chairman announcing the names on the ballots, and the voice of the clerk repeating them, there was absolute stillness. No one else spoke, or even whispered. Men scarcely breathed for the suspense that was on them. Ballot number sixty-six was removed from the box, read and recorded. It was for McCormack. The two contestants were again tied. There was but one more ballot to be counted. That ballot would break the tie and decide the election. Men put aside their tally sheets, or crumpled them in their hands, and leaned forward in their chairs, their eyes fixed on the lips of the presiding officer, in breathless anticipation. Brownell reached into the box, drew out the last ballot, glanced at it, and handed it to Major Huntington. The major looked at it in his turn, showed it to Captain Murray, and then announced the name written on it. “Halpert McCormack.” For the fraction of a minute there was dead silence. Then, like a clap of thunder, there came a swift outburst of applause. Hands, feet, throats united to acclaim the young officer-elect. Spontaneous, irrepressible, enthusiastic, the chorus of rejoicing rolled out from the company room, down the broad stairway, and across the wide drill-hall to its remotest corner. People waiting there in scores to hear the outcome of the election caught up the waves of sound and sent them echoing back to the room on the upper floor, though not one of them knew as yet whose victory it was. Then, for the second time that evening, the chairman’s gavel crashed down on the table before him, but on his face there was no sign of annoyance or of disapproval as he announced the result of the balloting.