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The mothers fell back. But my head swam slightly. The 6-month class, to be sure! The orator had forgotten all about it. In the general joy over his wise and fair proposition, nobody had thought of it. But they would pretty soon. Cuba and Bosco were likely to remind them. Then we should still be face to face with a state of things that–I cast a glance behind at those two mothers of Sharon and Rincon following us, and I asked Mrs. Brewton to look at them. “Don’t think about it now,” said she, “it will only mix you. I always like to take a thing when it comes, and not before.” We now reached the 18-month class. They were the naked ones. The 6-month had stayed nicely in people’s arms; these were crawling hastily everywhere, like crabs upset in the market, and they screamed fiercely when taken upon the lap. The mother of Thomas Jefferson Brayin Lucas showed us a framed letter from the statesman for whom her child was called. The letter reeked with gratitude, and said that offspring was man’s proudest privilege; that a souvenir sixteen-to-one spoon would have been cheerfully sent, but 428 babies had been named after Mr. Brayin since January. It congratulated the swelling army of the People’s Cause. But there was nothing eminent about little Thomas except the letter; and we selected Reese Moran, a vigorous Sharon baby, who, when they attempted to set him down and pacify him, stiffened his legs, dashed his candy to the floor, and burst into lamentation. We were soon. on our way to the 3-year class, for Mrs. Brewton was rapid and thorough. As we went by the Manna Exhibit, the agent among his packages and babies invited us in. He was loudly declaring that he would vote for Bosco if he could. But when he examined Cuba, he became sure that Denver had nothing finer than that. Mrs. Brewton took no notice of him, but bade me admire Aqua Marine as far surpassing any other 6-month child. I proclaimed her splendid (she was a wide-eyed, contented thing, with a head shaped like a croquet mallet), and the agent smiled modestly and told the mothers that as for his babies two prizes was luck enough for them; they didn’t want the earth. “If that thing happened to be brass,” said Mrs. Brewton, bending over the ring that Aqua was still sucking; and again remonstrating with the mother for this imprudence, she passed on. The three-year-olds were, many of them, in costume, with extraordinary arrangements of hair; and here was the child with gold wings and a crown I had seen on arriving. Her name was Verbena M., and she personated Faith. She had colored slippers, and was drinking tea from her mother’s cup. Another child, named Broderick McGowan, represented Columbus, and joyfully shouted “Ki-yi!” every half-minute. One child was attired as a prominent admiral; another as a prominent general; and one stood in a boat and was Washington. As Mrs. Brewton examined them and dealt with the mothers, the names struck me afresh–not so much the boys; Ulysses Grant and James J. Corbett explained themselves; but I read the names of five adjacent girls– Lula, Ocilla, Nila, Cusseta, and Maylene. And I asked Mrs. Brewton how they got them. “From romances,” she told me, “in papers that we of the upper classes never see.” In choosing Horace Boyd, of Rincon, for his hair, his full set of front teeth well cared for, and his general beauty, I think both of us were also influenced by his good sensible name, and his good clean sensible clothes. With both our selections, once they were settled, were Sharon and Rincon satisfied. We were turning back to the table to announce our choice when a sudden clamor arose behind us, and we saw confusion in the Manna Department. Women were running and shrieking, and I hastened after Mrs. Brewton to see what was the matter. Aqua Marine had swallowed the ring on her thumb. “It was gold! it was pure gold!” wailed the mother, clutching Mrs. Brewton. “It cost a whole dollar in El Paso.” “She must have white of egg instantly,” said Mrs. Brewton, handing me her purse. “Run to the hotel–” “Save your money,” said the agent, springing forward with some eggs in a bowl. “Lord! you don’t catch us without all the appliances handy. We’d run behind the trade in no time. There, now, there,” he added, comfortingly to the mother. “Will you make her swallow it? Better let me–better let me –And here’s the emetic. Lord! why, we had three swallowed rings at the Denver Olio, and I got ’em all safe back within ten minutes after time of swallowing.” “You go away,” said Mrs. Brewton to me, “and tell them our nominations.” The mothers sympathetically surrounded poor little Aqua, saying to each other: “She’s a beautiful child!” “Sure indeed she is!” “But the manna-feds has had their turn.” “Sure indeed they’ve been recognized,” and so forth, while I was glad to retire to the voting table. The music paused for me, and as the crowd cheered my small speech, some one said, “And now what are you going to do about me?” It was Bosco Grady back again, and close behind him Cuba. They had escaped from Mrs. Brewton’s eye and had got me alone. But I pretended in the noise and cheering not to see these mothers. I noticed a woman hurrying out of the tent, and hoped Aqua was not in further trouble–she was still surrounded, I could see. Then the orator made some silence, thanked us in the names of Sharon and Rincon, and proposed our candidates be voted on by acclamation. This was done. Rincon voted for Sharon and Reese Moran in a solid roar, and Sharon voted for Rincon and Horace Boyd in a roar equally solid. So now each had a prize, and the whole place was applauding happily, and the band was beginning again, when the mothers with Cuba and Bosco jumped up beside me on the platform, and the sight of them produced immediate silence.