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“What’s the matter with Garwood?”

Outside there rose an answering roar:

“He’s all right!”

But the Polk County delegation, as if it demanded confirmation, yelled again:

“Who’s all right?”

And then the crowd rose to its tip-toes, and the answering cry was of such immense unanimity that it made the very platform shake:

“G-a-r-wood!”

The train had stopped, and Garwood was being hustled toward the door. Some impatient fellows from the platform outside who had mounted the steps of the car, now pressed in, and stretched their bodies incredible distances across the backs of seats to grasp Garwood’s hand, to seize him by the coat, and to call in his face:

“Good boy, Jerry!”

“You’re the stuff!”

He was oblivious of the progress he was making, if he was making any at all, and the conductor, although he had caught the contagious spirit of the triumphant Polk County delegation soon after the train left Clinton, and had shown Garwood the deference due to a successful candidate, began to be concerned for the time he was losing, and said with smiling indulgence: