On motion of Mr. M.E.  Stone, Colonel Ela was instructed to deposit
  all campaign funds he might collect in the Globe National Bank.

  Mr. Thompson then introduced Mr. Franklin H. Head, who, he said, was
  a Mugwump.

  “Are you a Mugwump?” asked General McClurg.

  Mr. Head:  “I am, and I wish to join the party in Chicago.”

  General McClurg:  “Do you declare your unalterable belief in the
  Mugwump doctrine of free-will and election?”

  Mr. Head:  “As I understand it, I do.”

  General McClurg:  “The Mugwump doctrine of free-will argues that
  every voter may vote as he chooses, irrespective of party, so long
  as his vote involves the election of Grover Cleveland.”

  Mr. Head:  “I am a Mugwump to the extent of voting as I choose, and
  irrespective of party, but I draw the line at Grover Cleveland this
  time.” (Great sensation.)

  Mr. Stone:  “I guess you’ve got into the wrong ’bus, my friend, and
  I’m rather glad of it, for one vice-president of a bank is all the
  Mugwump party can stand.”

  Mr. Thompson:  “I supposed he was all right, or I wouldn’t have
  brought him in.”

General McClurg:  “No, he is far from the truth.  Upon the vital, the essential point, he is fatally weak.  Go back, erring brother—­go back into the outer darkness; it is not for you to sit with the elect.”

Mr. Stone invited the party to a grand gala picnic which he proposed to give in August in Melville Park, Glencoe.  He would order a basket of chicken sandwiches, a gallon of iced tea, and three pink umbrellas, and they would have a royal time of it.

Mr. Thompson moved, out of respect to the Greatest of Modern Fishermen, to strike out “chicken” and insert “sardine.”  Mr. Stone accepted the suggestion, and thus amended, the invitation was hilariously accepted.

  After adopting a resolution instructing Mr. Stone to buy the
  sardines and tea at Brother Franklin MacVeagh’s, the party adjourned
  for one week.

Field was very fond of describing himself as a martyr to the Mugwump vapors and megrims that prevailed in the editorial rooms of the Daily News.  He would say that the imperishable crowns won by the heroes of Fox’s “Book of Martyrs” were nothing to what he, a stanch Republican partisan, earned by enduring and associating daily with the piping, puling independents who infested that “ranch.”  He said that he expected a place high up in the dictionary of latter-day saints and in the encyclopedia of nineteenth-century tribulations, because of the Christian fortitude with which he endured and forgave the stings and jibes of his puny tormentors.