forever. Men who had known Bleak in the days of his employment on
the Balloon recollected that even during the cares and efforts of
his profession little incidents had occurred that might have shown
(had they been shrewd enough to notice) how faithfully he was
preparing himself for the great responsibility destiny held
concealed.

The day of the election was declared a national festival. The
Chuff government, a good deal startled by the universal
seriousness and enthusiasm shown in the enrollment at the
primaries, was disposed (in secret) to regard the office of
Perpetual Souse as a helpful compromise on a vexed question. The
war against Nature had been only partially successful: indeed the
chuff chief-of-staff declared that Nature had not learned her
lesson yet, and that some irreconcilable berries and fruits were
still waging a guerilla fermentation, thus rupturing the armistice
terms. The countryside had been ravaged, all the Chautauqua
lecturers were hoarse, industry was at a standstill, misery and
despair were widespread. Even the indomitable Chuff himself was a
little nonplussed. Better (he thought) one man indubitably,
decorously, publicly, and legally drunk, than millions of citizens
privily attempting to cajole raisins and apples into illicit
sprightliness.

The citizens went to the polls in a mood of exalted self-denial.
They knew that they were voting away their own rights, but they
also knew that their private ideals would be more than realized in
the legalized frenzy of their representative. Bleak, appearing on
the balcony of his hotel, smiled affectionately on the loyal faces
that cheered him from below. He was deeply moved. To Quimbleton