[Illustration: "YELL, OR GO DOWN!"]
Chapin will never be himself again. From that moment his proud spirit was
broken, and all during the picnic he seemed to have lost his cud. He
leaned listlessly against a tree, pale as death, and fanned himself with a
skimmer. When the party had spread the lunch on the ground and gathered
around, sitting on the ant-hills, he sat down with them mechanically, but
his appetite was gone, and when that is gone there is not enough
of him left for a quorum.
Friends rallied around him, passed the pickles, and drove the antmires out
of a sandwich, and handed it to him on a piece of shingle, but he either
passed or turned it down. He said he couldn't take a trick. Later on, when
the lemonade was brought on, the flies were skimmed off of some of it, and
a little colored water was put in to make it look inviting, but his eyes
were sot. He said they couldn't fool him. After what had occurred, he
didn't feel as though any Democrat was safe. He expected to be poisoned on
account of his politics, and all he asked was to live to get home.
Nothing was left undone to rally him, and cause him to forget the fearful
scene through which he had passed. Only once did he partially come to
himself, and show an interest in worldly affairs, and that was when it was
found that he had sat down on some raspberry jam with his white pants on.
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