We use Optical Character Recognition (OCR) during our scanning and processing workflow to make the content of each page searchable. You can view the automatically generated text below as well as copy and paste individual pieces of text to quote in your own work.
Text recognition is never 100% accurate. Many parts of the scanned page may not be reflected in the OCR text output, including: images, page layout, certain fonts or handwriting.
92
THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE.
prance thru her jagged brain, coloring her cheeks scarlet, and dashing her eyes with fire. The fourth bulletin gave her a touch of recklessness and she flashed a triumphant glance at her husband. But he, almost ready to faint with excitement and chagrin, revived at the news of the fifth bulletin. His party was a little ahead. Ellen felt cold chills running down her spine. The one point for which these two misguided souls were striving was not the Nation's good, but personal spite and the desire to triumph. The sixth bulletin closed the evening's record and Ellen's party was a trifle ahead. The Union Labor Party was just showing a sign of strength. The crowd dispersed to seek uneasy pillows, awaiting the final count in the
next morning's papers.
* * * *
All thru the night the eyes of the husband and wife -burned with inward fever. Visions of power chased one another like restless phantoms thru the recesses of their brains. How far away seemed those blissful days when
the happy family basked in the sunshine of conscious prosperity ! Now the abyss seemed widening between those once joyous hearts, and the underlying sadness in it all was reflected upon the present lives of the three children, making their steps heavy and their voices dull. 0, happy bygone clays ! What bitter thoughts now dwell in the hearts of the Fusion candidate in his cheerless tent on the front lawn ! No sleep calms either anxious mincl, and the hours creep away until dawn lightens the familiar objects into sharp relief. At the stroke of six the garden gate opens, and the postman deposits the morning paper at the door of the porch and departs. Like a thief Winthrop peers about and then, wrapped in an old ulster, he almost crawls to the veranda, where he goes down upon hands and knees in order to reach that newspaper without betraying to the other candidate within, his feverish anxiety concerning the election returns. He reaches out his hand and it grasps the paper, indeed, but with another hand already
BOTH CANDIDATES WERE EAGER TO GET THE NEWS.