eburn,
ending with the perfectly warrantable accusation that Mr. Randolph was
wandering from the subject of the evening merely to indulge his personal
spite. The audience was beginning to be roused by the unfairness, and a
storm might have ensued had not Mr. Randolph unintentionally turned the
whole proceedings from tragedy to farce.

Indignant at Raeburn's accusation, he sprung to his feet and began a
vigorous protest.

"Mr. Chairman, I denounce my opponent as a liar. His accusation is
utterly false. I deny the allegation, and I scorn the alligator--"

He was interrupted by a shout of laughter, the whole assembly was
convulsed, even Erica's anger changed to mirth.

"Fit for 'Punch,'" she whispered to Brian, her face all beaming with
merriment.

Raeburn, whose grave face had also relaxed into a smile, suddenly stood
up, and, with a sort of dry Scotch humor, remarked:

"My enemies have compared me to many obnoxious things, but never till
tonight have I been called a crocodile. Possibly Mr. Randolph has been
reading of the crocodiles recently dissected at Paris. It has been
discovered that they are almost brainless, and, being without reason,
are probably animated by a violent instinct of destruction. I believe,
however, that the power of their 'jaw' is unsurpassed."

Then, amid shouts of laughter and applause, he sat down again, leaving
the field to the much discomfited Mr. Randolph.

Much harm had been done that evening to the cause of Christianity. The
sympathies of the audience could not be with the weak and unmannerly Mr.
Randolph; they were Englishmen, and were, of course, inclined to side
with the man who had been unjustly dealt with, who, moreover, had really
spoken to them--had touched their very hearts.

The field was practically lost when, to the surprise of all, another
speaker came forward. Erica, who knew that their side had had the best
of it, felt a thrill of admiration when she saw Charles Osmond move
slowly to the front of the platform. She was very tired, but out of a
sort of gratitude for his friendliness, a readiness to do him honor,
she strained her energies to take down his speech verbatim. It was not
a long one, it was hardly, perhaps, to be called a speech at all, it was
rather as if the man had thrown his very self into the breach made by
the unhappy wrangle of the evening.

He spoke of the universal brotherhood and of the wrong done to it
by bitterness and strife; he stood there as t