n the breed of literati, but with half an eye he noted
that these were not the ordinary sort of men. There were more silk
hats, there were broad-brimmed hats, there was scrupulousness in
attire, there was the disarray of Bohemianism. And it was plainly
evident that these later arrivals had had word of conference with
each other. Each held a "Per Consetena Tate" letter in his hand.

"I have met with some amazing situations in my time--in real life
and in romance," stated a hard-faced man who had evidently been
selected as spokesman. "But this seems so supremely without parallel
that I am almost robbed of expression. Here are ten of us, each having
the same identical letter of invitation to deliver the oration of
the day here on this occasion."

"Ten, did you say? Eleven," said the first-comer. "Here is my
letter."

"And the others have invitations to deliver discourses," went on the
spokesman, severely. "As your name is signed to all these letters,
Captain Aaron Sproul, first selectman of Smyrna, perhaps you will
deign to explain to us what it all means."

Cap'n Sproul arose and then sat down; arose and sat down again. He
tried to speak, but only a husky croak came forth. Something seemed
to have crawled into his throat--something fuzzy and filling, that
would not allow language to pass.

"Here are more than twenty prominent men, seduced from their manifold
duties, called away up here to satisfy the rural idea of a joke--or,
at least, I can see no other explanation," proceeded the hard-faced
man. "It might be remarked in passing that the joke will be an
expensive one for this town. Eleven distinguished men called here
to deliver one oration in a one-horse town!"

The Cap'n did not like the bitter irony of his tone, and recovered
his voice enough to say,

"You might cut the cards or spit at a crack, gents, to see which one
does deliver the oration." But the pleasantry did not evoke any smile
from that disgusted assemblage.

"It is safe to say that after this hideous insult not one of us will
speak," declared one of the group. "But I for one would like some
light on the insane freak that prompted this performance. As you are
at the head of this peculiar community, we'd like you to speak for
it."

Somewhat to his own surprise, Cap'n Sproul did not find in himself
any especially bitter animosity toward Mr. Tate, just then, search
his soul as he might.

These "lit'ry fellows," cajoled by one of their own ilk int