“Let’s hurry, and we may see something,” said his wife.

The throng had left Broadway, and had stopped in Grand Street under a balcony in a handsome house.  The music had stopped also, and all faces were turned toward the balcony.  Mr. Bennet and his wife stood at the corner of Broadway.  Suddenly a gentleman took off his hat and waved it violently in the air, and a superb diamond-ring flashed in the torch-light as he did so, while he shouted,

“Three cheers for Newt!”

There was a burst of huzzas from the crowd—­the drums rolled—­the boys shrieked and snarled in the tone of various animals—­the torches waved—­one excited man cried, “One more!”—­there was another stentorian yell, and roll, and wave—­after which the band played a short air.  But the windows did not open.

“Newt!  Newt!  Newt!” shouted the crowd.  The young gentleman with the diamond-ring disappeared into the house, with several others.

“Why, Slugby, where the devil is he?” said one of them to another, in a whisper, as they ran up the stairs.

“I’m sure I don’t know.  Musher promised to have him ready.”

“And I sent Ele up to get here before we did,” replied his friend, in the same hurried whisper, his fat nose glistening in the hall-light.

When they reached Mr. Newt’s room they found him lying upon a sofa, while Musher and the Honorable B.J.  Ele were trying to get him up.

“D——­n it! stand up, can’t you?” cried Mr. Ele.

“No, I can’t,” replied Abel, with a half-humorous maudlin smile.

At the same moment the impetuous roar of the crowd in the street stole in through the closed windows.

“Newt!  Newt!  Newt!”

“What in ——­ shall we do?” gasped Mr. Enos Slugby, walking rapidly up and down the room.

“Who let him get drunk?” demanded General Belch, angrily.

Nobody answered.

“Newt!  Newt!  Newt!” surged in from the street.

“Thunder and devils, there’s nothing for it but to prop him up on the balcony!” said General Belch.  “Come now, heave to, every body, and stick him on his pins.”

Abel looked sleepily round, with his eyes half closed and his under lip hanging.

“’Tain’t no use,” said he, thickly; “’tain’t no use.”

And he leered and laughed.

The perspiring and indignant politicians grasped him—­Slugby and William Condor under the arms, Belch on one side, and Ele ready to help any where.  They raised their friend to his feet, while his head rolled slowly round from one side to the other, with a maudlin grin.

“’Tain’t no use,” he said.

Indeed, when they had him fairly on his feet nothing further seemed to be possible.  They were all holding him and looking very angry, while they heard the loud and imperative—­“Newt!  Newt!  Newt!” accompanied with unequivocal signs of impatience in an occasional stone or chip that rattled against the blinds.