him, in the front ranks, even scanning the carriages, seeking him in
all positions which she conceived as highest in honour, and she would
have missed him altogether, had not there reached her, out of chaotic
clamours, a clear, high, rollicking tenor:

_"Ahaha! du libra Ogostine,
Ogostine, Ogostine!
Ahaha! du libra Ogostine,
Nees coma ross!"_

Then the eager eyes found their pleasure, for there, in the last line
of Pixley's pirates, the very tail of the procession, danced Pietro
Tobigli, waving his pink torch at her, proud, happy, triumphant, a
true Republican, believing all company equal in the republic, and the
rear rank as good as the first.

"Vote a Republican!" he shouted. "Republican--Republican eternall!"

Strangely enough, a like fervid protestation (vociferated in greeting)
evoked no reciprocal enthusiasm in the breast of Mr. Pixley, when the
committee-man called upon Toby and his friends at their apartment one
evening, a fortnight later.

"That's right," he responded languidly. "That's right in gineral, I
_should_ say. Cert'nly, in _gineral_, I ain't got no quarrel
with no man's Republicanism. But this here's kind of a put-tickler
case, boys. The election's liable to be mighty close."

"Republican win!" laughed Toby. "Meelyun man eena parade!"