quite unconcerned. But as he turned round over the back of his chair to talk with some one behind him, his eyes were sparkling with excitement and there was a self-conscious smile on his face.
Rupert Ormsby, in the back of the room, was being disorderly in a juvenile way. With his foot up against the wall, he was jamming a line of chairs together, while everybody down the line resisted, and the two or three fellows nearest him heaved with shoulders and arms against his mighty back—all of them hilarious with laughter.
"Harry pretends he does n't care," said Nat Belmont to Francis Stoddard, "and Rupert Ormsby really doesn't care. That's what I like about him; he does n't give a hoot."
Mr. Eldredge rapped on the table for order; the tellers were ready to make their report. When the room was quiet, one of them read:
"Total number of votes cast, 94; Ormsby, 39; Harding, 55. Mr. Harding is elected."
The applause that greeted this announcement came mainly from the front part of the
