Their torches were encased in fantastic glass lanterns
alternately red, white, and blue. On the occasion of their first
parade, when they drew up before the house to receive their
transparency, adorned on one side with a villainous portrait of myself
superscribed by the motto, "Our Fathers Fought For Freedom, We Are
Fighting For The Right," and on the other a cut depicting the rival
candidate up to his armpits in the bog of Civil Service Reform,
described as "Spinney's Walk-Over" (a happy blending, as Nick called
it, of serious principle and humorous suggestion), I appeared on the
door-steps and delivered a few halting sentences of gratitude and
augury for success, which were received with loud plaudits and the
rattle of the drum corps. Thereupon I invited the battalion to enter
and partake of a little simple hospitality, which they hastened to do
to the number of two hundred, including a dozen ward heelers in
citizens' raiment, and three or four nondescripts whom nobody knew, but
whom Nick said it would be impolitic to offend by exclusion. A hearty
supper was ready for them in the dining-room, presided over by
Josephine and her daughters, whose presence seemed at first to abash my
warriors of the torch. But only for a few moments. Realizing
presently that these Goddesses had apparently but one aim in life, to
wit, to help them to salad, oysters, and ice-cream, diffidence
disappeared like fog before the morning sun, and with it the viands
down the throats of my red, white, and blue supporters.
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