The voters had been now voting in my two boxes for some time, and I found myself hoping the manna would not win, whoever did; but it seemed this agent was a very capable person. To begin with, every family entering a baby drew a package of the manna free, and one package contained a diamond ring. Then, he had managed to have the finest babies of all classes in his own exhibit. This was incontestable, Mrs. Brewton admitted, after returning from a general inspection; and it seemed to us extraordinary. "That's easy, ma'am," said Gadsden; "he came around here a month ago. Don't you see?" I did not see, but Mrs. Brewton saw at once. He had made a quiet selection of babies beforehand, and then introduced the manna into those homes. And everybody in the room was remarking that his show was very superior, taken as a whole they all added, "taken as a whole"; I heard them as they came up to vote for the 3-year and the 18-month classes. The 6-month was to wait till last, because the third box had been accidentally smashed by Mr. Smith. Gadsden caught several trying to vote twice. "No, you don't!" he would shout. "I know faces. I'm not a conductor for nothing." And the victim would fall back amid jeers from the sun-bonnets. Once the passengers sent over to know when the train was going. "Tell them to step over here and they'll not feel so lonesome!" shouted Gadsden; and I think a good many came. The band was playing "White Wings," with quite a number singing it, when Gadsden noticed the voting had ceased, and announced this ballot closed. The music paused for him, and we could suddenly hear how many babies were in distress; but for a moment only; as we began our counting, "White Wings" resumed, and the sun-bonnets outsang their progeny. There was something quite singular in the way they had voted. Here are some of the 3-year-old tickets: "First choice, Ulysses Grant Blum; 2d choice, Lewis Hendricks." "First choice, James Redfield; 2d, Lewis Hendricks." "First, Elk Chester; 2d, Lewis Hendricks." "Can it be?" said the excited Gadsden. "Finish these quick. I'll open the 18-monthers." But he swung round to me at once. "See there!" he cried. "Read that! and that!" He plunged among more, and I read: "First choice, Lawrence Nepton Ford, Jr.; 2d, Iona Judd." "First choice, Mary Louise Kenton; 2d, Iona Judd." "Hurry up!" said Gadsden; "that's it!" And as we counted, Mrs. Brewton looked over my shoulder and uttered her melodious croak, for which I saw no reason. "That young whipper-snapper will go far," she observed; nor did I understand this. But when they stopped the band for me to announce the returns, one fact did dawn on me even while I was reading: "Three-year-olds: Whole number of votes cast, 300; necessary to a choice, 225. Second prize, Lewis Hendricks, receiving 300. First prize, largest number of votes cast, 11, for Salvisa van Meter. No award. Eighteen-month class: Whole number of votes cast, 300; necessary to a choice, 225. Second prize, Iona Judd, receiving 300. Lillian Brown gets 15 for 1st prize. None awarded." There was a very feeble applause, and then silence for a second, and then the sun-bonnets rushed together, rushed away to others, rushed back; and talk swept like hail through the place. Yes, that is what they had done. They had all voted for Lewis Hendricks and Iona Judd for second prize, and every family had voted the first prize to its own baby. The Browns and van Meters happened to be the largest families present. "He'll go far! he'll go far!" repeated Mrs. Brewton. Sport glittered in her eye. She gathered her curtains, and was among the sun-bonnets in a moment. Then it fully dawned on me. The agent for Mrs. Eden's Manna in the Wilderness was indeed a shrewd strategist, and knew his people to the roots of the grass. They had never seen a baby-show. They were innocent. He came among them. He gave away packages of manna and a diamond ring. He offered the prizes. But he proposed to win some. Therefore he made that rule about only the immediate families voting. He foresaw what they would do; and now they had done it. Whatever happened, two prizes went to his manna-feds. "They don't see through it in the least, which is just as well," said Mrs. Brewton, returning. "And it's little matter that only second prizes go to the best babies. But what's to be done now?" I had no idea; but it was not necessary that I should.
"You folks of Rincon and Sharon," spoke a deep voice. It was the first man in the Pullman, and drops were rolling from his forehead, and his eyes were the eyes of a beleaguered ox. "You fathers and mothers," he said, and took another breath. They grew quiet. "I'm a father myself, as is well known." They applauded this. "Salvisa is mine, and she got my vote. The father that will not support his own child is not—does not—is worse than if they were orphans." He breathed again, while they loudly applauded. "But, folks, I've got to get home to Rincon. I've got to. And I'll give up Salvisa if I'm met fair." "Yes, yes, you'll be met," said voices of men. "Well, here's my proposition: Mrs. Eden's manna has took two, and I'm satisfied it should. We voted, and will stay voted." "Yes, yes!" "Well, now, here's Sharon and Rincon, two of the finest towns in this section, and I say Sharon and Rincon has equal rights to get something out of this, and drop private feelings, and everybody back their town. And I say let this lady and gentleman, who will act elegant and on the square, take a view and nominate the finest Rincon 3-year-old and the finest Sharon 18-month they can cut out of the herd. And I say let's vote unanimous on their pick, and let each town hold a first prize and go home in friendship, feeling it has been treated right."
Universal cheers endorsed him, and he got down panting. The band played "Union Forever," and I accompanied Mrs. Brewton to the booths. "You'll remember!" shouted the orator urgently after us; "one apiece." We nodded. "Don't get mixed," he appealingly insisted. We shook our heads, and out of the booths rushed two women, and simultaneously dashed their infants in our faces. "You'll never pass Cuba by!" entreated one. "This is Bosco Grady," said the other. Cuba wore an immense garment made of the American flag, but her mother whirled her out of it in a second. "See them dimples; see them knees!" she said. "See them feet! Only feel of her toes!" "Look at his arms!" screamed the mother of Bosco. "Doubled his weight in four months." "Did he indeed, ma'am?" said Cuba's mother; "well, he hadn't much to double." "Didn't he, then? Didn't he indeed?" "No at you; he didn't indeed and indeed! I guess Cuba is known to Sharon. I guess Sharon'll not let Cuba be slighted." "Well, and I guess Rincon'll see that Bosco Grady gets his rights." "Ladies," said Mrs. Brewton, towering but poetical with her curl, "I am a mother myself, and raised five noble boys and two sweet peerless girls." This stopped them immediately; they stared at her and her chintz peonies as she put the curl gently away from her medallion and proceeded: "But never did I think of myself in those dark weary days of the long ago. I thought of my country and the Lost Cause." They stared at her, fascinated. "Yes, m'm," whispered they, quite humbly. "Now," said Mrs. Brewton, "what is more sacred than an American mother's love? Therefore let her not shame it with anger and strife. All little boys and girls are precious gems to me and to you. What is a cold, lifeless medal compared to one of them? Though I would that all could get the prize! But they can't, you know." "No, m'm." Many mothers, with their children in their arms, were now dumbly watching Mrs. Brewton, who held them with a honeyed, convincing smile. "If I choose only one in this beautiful and encouraging harvest, it is because I have no other choice. Thank you so much for letting me see that little hero and that lovely angel," she added, with a yet sweeter glance to the mothers of Bosco and Cuba. "And I wish them all luck when their turn comes. I've no say about the 6-month class, you know. And now a little room, please."