The merry company laughed, and went home with Mr. William Condor to crack a bottle of Champagne.

Mr. and Mrs. Bennet had stood at the street corner during the few minutes occupied by these events.  When they heard the shouts for Newt they had looked inquiringly at each other.  But when the scene was closed, and the cheers for the Honorable Abel Newt, our representative in Congress, had died away, they stood for a few moments quite stupefied.

“What does it mean, Gerald?” asked his wife.  “Is Abel Newt in Congress?”

“I didn’t know it.  I suppose he is only a candidate.”

He moved rapidly away, and his wife, who was not used to speed in his walking, smiled quietly, and, could he have seen her eye, a little mischievously.  She said presently,

“Yes, our institutions are very simple and beautiful.”

Mr. Bennet said nothing.  But she relentlessly continued,

“What a majestic thing the election of Abel Newt by the popular will will be!”

“My dear,” he answered, “don’t laugh until you know that it is the popular will; and when you do know it, cry.”

They walked on silently for some little distance further, and then Gerald Bennet turned toward St. John’s Square.  His wife asked: 

“Where are you going?”

“Can’t you guess?”

“Yes; but we have never been there before.”

“Has he ever failed before?”

“No, you dear soul! and I am very glad we are going.”

CHAPTER LXXI.

RICHES HAVE WINGS.

They rang at the door of Boniface Newt.  It was quite late in the evening, and when they entered the parlor there were several persons sitting there.

“Why! father and mother!” exclaimed Gabriel, who was sitting in a remote dim corner, and who instantly came forward, with May Newt following him.

Mrs. Newt rose and bowed a little stiffly, and said, in an excited voice, that really she had no idea, but she was very happy indeed, she was sure, and so was Mr. Newt.  When she had tied her sentence in an inextricable knot, she stopped and seated herself.

Boniface Newt rose slowly and gravely.  He was bent like a very old man.  His eye was hard and dull, and his dry voice said: 

“How do you do?  I am happy to see you.”

Then he sat down again, while Lawrence went up and shook hands with the new-comers.  Boniface drummed slowly upon his knees with the long, bony white fingers, and rocked to and fro mechanically, as he sat.

When Lawrence had ended his greetings there was a pause.  Mrs. Newt seemed to be painfully conscious of it.  So did Mr. Bennet, whose eyes wandered about the room, resting for a few instants upon Boniface, then sliding toward his wife.  Boniface himself seemed to be entirely unconscious of any pause, or of any person, or of any thing, except some mysterious erratic measure that he was beating with the bony fingers.