believes it, he has proclaimed it in public, and he embodies it. Mr.
Burrows indulges in slight but effective sarcasm of sham reformers and
so-called business men who perform the arduous task of cutting coupons
and live in rarefied regions where they can only be seen by the common
people when the light is turned on. (Cheers from two partisan bodies
and groans and hisses from another. General Doby, with a pained face,
pounding with the gavel. This isn't a circumstance to what's coming,
General.)

After General Doby has succeeded in abating the noise in honour-of the
Honourable Adam, there is a hush of expectancy. Humphrey Crewe, who has
made all this trouble and enthusiasm, is to be nominated next, and the
Honourable Timothy Wailing of Newcastle arises to make that celebrated
oration which the cynical have called the "thousand-dollar speech."
And even if they had named it well (which is not for a moment to be
admitted!), it is cheap for the price. How Mr. Crewe's ears must
tingle as he paces his headquarters in the Pelican! Almost would it be
sacrilege to set down cold, on paper, the words that come, burning, out
of the Honourable Timothy's loyal heart. Here, gentlemen, is a man at
last, not a mere puppet who signs his name when a citizen of New York
pulls the string; one who is prepared to make any sacrifice,--to spend
his life, if need be, in their service. (A barely audible voice, before
the cheering commences, "I guess that's so.") Humphrey Crewe needs no
defence--the Honourable Timothy avers--at his hands, or any one's. Not
merely an idealist, but a practical man who has studied the needs of the
State; unselfish to the core; longing, like Washington, the Father of
his Country, to remain in a beautiful country home, where he dispenses
hospitality with a flowing hand to poor and rich alike, yet harking to
the call of duty. Leaving, like the noble Roman of old, his plough in
the furrow--(Same voice as before, "I wish he'd left his automobil'
thar!" Hisses and laughter.) The Honourable Timothy, undaunted, snatches
his hand from the breast of his Prince Albert and flings it, with a
superb gesture, towards the Pelican. "Gentlemen, I have the honour to
nominate to this convention that peerless leader for the right, the
Honourable Humphrey Crewe of Leith--our next governor."

General Andrew Jackson himself, had he been alive and on this historic
ground and chairman of that convention, could scarce have quelled the
tumult a