The Bridgeport evening farmer., 1912-11-13

] of a tractabfe stage mob. And tht victory was not for him, nor for ths principle he had served, but for a mar 1 whom he had condemned, for an in st1tution he believed to be wrong. He ] was big enough-or small enough ii ] you prefer-to resent being catapulted into power by the strength of another's arm, and he was honest enough to | hate the means he knew must have l been used. He could not exult- The 1 advancement had come too late. The l fiery eagerness of youth was gone. He longed not for a sword, but for peace-the peace of the hills, of the 1 growing things, of the commonplace i from which once he had fled. 4 sound, strange for that hour and i place, slowly pierced his abstraction. | He raised his head, startled, listening. It was the courthouse bell. Another Joined in, and another, until all the bells of the town were ringing. The iron choral was for him. He walked slowly on. As he rounded the foot of the knob, he heard another sound rising to min gle with the clamor of the bells cheering voices. He had a strong de SiE0 u tuEH DdCk dAd 4lSC tO SOk41S AA10- ing place in the hills, but he forced himself to march forward. At the northernmost' edge of the town he perceived rapidly 1impfng figure. It was Jeremy Applegate.
 Heard you came out this way,'' Jeremy gasped, '.an' I wanted to be first to tell you. Nominated by accla- .mation at 3:45 this afternoon! I hain't felt so good since Appomattoxs' John, beho1ding the tears shining in honest Jeremy's eyes. felt the moisture rise to his own. His heart leaped sharply; it was something to receive, even if one has not earned. such loyalty! 7s sss .ssss. ss
 Down Main street came azteana drawing double seated spring wagon. From the wagon descended a silent trio whose. handclasp eloquentlys told what awkward lips could not phrase.
 .'Druv into town to git.the news of the convention Ri explained. ''They druv out to fetch ye in. They're wait in for ye, considerable excited.''
 They've found out,'' said Dan Cris- well dryly, "aH at oncet that ye're a great man.
 
 pie a mite too soon,'' confessed Sykes, which caused Cranshawe and Criswell to laugh.
 s'Git in,'' commanded Ri. Come right along, Jeremy
 They all climbed into the wagon, John with lips compressed as if he faced an ordeal. And indeed he did Ri was quick to perceive what Jeremy In the hysteria of his joy had over looked. His great, hairy hand fell on Johns knee in a tight grip.
 .eI want to say something while got the chancet. I guess there's more to this than appears to be. But have faith in ye, John Dunmeade. I have faith . that yell govern this state in the fear of God and the love of your fellow men,"
 ssWhatever ye do, supplemented Sykes. 9TH believe that''
 "An' so long as we got faith. in ye ye needn't lose faith in yourself,' Cris- well concluded.
 John did not answer He was past speaking just then and later when his townsfolk acclaimed him.. -, At home took place wonder. Judge Dunmeade, almost forgetting the judi cial dignity. slapped John on the back
  py hour, I always knew you would make your mark
 At which Miss Roberta shifted. But when she tried to convey her felicita- tions her tongue refused the unaccus- toned office, and she broke away to prepare a supper that should do justice to the occasion.
 That evening Benton county made holiday, with torches and bonfires and fireworks. John made a speech at his home-not much of speech, it is true, but his audience was not hypercritica1. It lasted just three minutes. Then the band began to play America. For a little a deep hush fell. Then some one later Identified as one legged, hys- terica1Iy happy old soldier-began to sing in a cracked. quavering voice Something that passed beyond mere jubilation stirred. With one accord the crowd lifted up it's voice and sang, My country, 'tis of thee''-
 The solemn, stately measures died away. A young woman under tree at the edge of the crowd discovered un- ashamed tears coursing down her cheeks. A last cheer was given, and the famous celebration passed into history.
 At his window John Dunmeade look ed with troubled eyes up into the si- lent, starry night. It was ungenerOus perhaps, but he could not help thinking of the lean years of defeat and discour agement And he wondered Was the hymn still ringing in his ears the voice of an abiding passion-or hysteria?
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