Wilson came to the rescue, and smoothed things down as well as he could; and in fact was entirely successful as far as the twins were concerned, for they felt sorrier for the affront put upon him by his guest’s outburst of ill manners than for the insult offered to Luigi.  But the success was not so pronounced with the offender.  Tom tried to seem at his ease, and he went through the motions fairly well, but at bottom he felt resentful toward all the three witnesses of his exhibition; in fact, he felt so annoyed at them for having witnessed it and noticed it that he almost forgot to feel annoyed at himself for placing it before them.  However, something presently happened which made him almost comfortable, and brought him nearly back to a state of charity and friendliness.  This was a little spat between the twins; not much of a spat, but still a spat; and before they got far with it, they were in a decided condition of irritation while pretending to be actuated by more respectable motives.  By his help the fire got warmed up to the blazing point, and he might have had the happiness of seeing the flames show up in another moment, but for the interruption of a knock on the door—­an interruption which fretted him as much as it gratified Wilson.  Wilson opened the door.

The visitor was a good-natured, ignorant, energetic middle-aged Irishman named John Buckstone, who was a great politician in a small way, and always took a large share in public matters of every sort.  One of the town’s chief excitements, just now, was over the matter of rum.  There was a strong rum party and a strong anti-rum party.  Buckstone was training with the rum party, and he had been sent to hunt up the twins and invite them to attend a mass meeting of that faction.  He delivered his errand, and said the clans were already gathering in the big hall over the market house.  Luigi accepted the invitation cordially.  Angelo less cordially, since he disliked crowds, and did not drink the powerful intoxicants of America.  In fact, he was even a teetotaler sometimes —­when it was judicious to be one.

The twins left with Buckstone, and Tom Driscoll joined the company with them uninvited.

In the distance, one could see a long wavering line of torches drifting down the main street, and could hear the throbbing of the bass drum, the clash of cymbals, the squeaking of a fife or two, and the faint roar of remote hurrahs.  The tail end of this procession was climbing the market house stairs when the twins arrived in its neighborhood; when they reached the hall, it was full of people, torches, smoke, noise, and enthusiasm.  They were conducted to the platform by Buckstone—­Tom Driscoll still following—­and were delivered to the chairman in the midst of a prodigious explosion of welcome.  When the noise had moderated a little, the chair proposed that “our illustrious guests be at once elected, by complimentary acclamation, to membership in our ever-glorious organization, the paradise of the free and the perdition of the slave.”