r. Crewe let his eyes rest significantly
on the eleven empty rows, while his hearers squirmed in terrified
silence at this audacity. Even the Ripton women knew that this was
high treason beneath the walls of the citadel, and many of them glanced
furtively at the strangely composed daughter of Augustus P. Flint.

"I will show you that I can stand on my own feet," Mr. Crewe continued.
"I will introduce myself. I am Humphrey Crewe of Leith, and I claim to
have added something to the welfare and prosperity of this State, and I
intend to add more before I have finished."

At this point, as might have been expected, spontaneous applause broke
forth, originating in the right-hand stage box. Here was a daring
defiance indeed, a courage of such a high order that it completely
carried away the ladies and drew reluctant plaudits from the male
element. "Give it to 'em, Humphrey!" said one of those who happened to
be sitting next to Miss Flint, and who received a very severe pinch in
the arm in consequence.

"I thank the gentleman," answered Mr. Crewe, "and I propose
to--(Handclapping and sachet.) I propose to show that you spend
something like two hundred thousand dollars a year to elect legislators
and send 'em to the capital, when the real government of your State is
in a room in the Pelican Hotel known as the Railroad Room, and the real
governor is a citizen of your town, the Honourable Hilary Vane, who sits
there and acts for his master, Mr. Augustus P. Flint of New York. And
I propose to prove to you that, before the Honourable Adam B. Hunt
appeared as that which has come to be known as the 'regular' candidate,
Mr. Flint sent for him to go to New York and exacted certain promises
from him. Not that it was necessary, but the Northeastern Railroads
never take any chances. (Laughter.) The Honourable Adam B. Hunt is what
they call a 'safe' man, meaning by that a man who will do what Mr. Flint
wants him to do. While I am not 'safe' because I have dared to defy them
in your name, and will do what the people want me to do. (Clapping and
cheers from a gentleman in the darkness, afterwards identified as Mr.
Tooting.) Now, my friends, are you going to continue to allow a citizen
of New York to nominate your governors, and do you intend, tamely, to
give the Honourable Adam B. Hunt your votes?"

"They ain't got any votes," said a voice--not that of Mr. Hastings
Weare, for it came from the depths of the gallery.

"'The hand that rocks