y above the stage, showed faded and thin
against the brightness of the cheesecloth, but kept its dignity and kept
up its claim to homage still. And the ugliness of the room was a thing
to be discounted and forgotten, like some beautiful, full-blooded
woman's tawdry, and ill-chosen clothes, because this room held Green
River.

Green River, filling the little room to over-flowing, standing in the
rear of the room, crowding every available inch of space on benches,
window sills, and an emergency supply of camp chairs, impressive as that
much sheer bulk of humanity, crowded between four walls, becomes
impressive, and impressive in its own right, too; Green River
represented as it was, with all the warring, unreconciled elements that
made the town.

For they were all here, Paddy Lane, and the Everard circle, and the
intermediate stages of society, the Gaynors and other prosperous farmers
and unprosperous farmers and their wives, from the outskirts of the
town, and citizens a cut above them both, like the Wards, were all
represented here. Mrs. Kent, hatless and evening coated, was elbowed by
a lady from Paddy Lane, hatless because she had no presentable hat, and
wearing a ragged shawl. These two were side by side, and they had the
same look on their faces. There was something of it now on every face
in the room. It was a look of listening and waiting.

It was on every face, and it grew more intense every minute that Luther
Ward's speech droned on, though it was only a dry, illogical rehash of
political issues that could not have called that look into any face. It
was as if the audience listened eagerly through it because every word of
it was bringing them nearer to something that was to follow. What was
it? What did Green River want? What was it waiting for? Green River
itself did not know, but it was very near.

Perhaps it was coming now. This might well be the climax of the evening.
No more important event was scheduled. Luther Ward, looking discontented
with his performance, but relieved to complete it, had sunk into his
chair to a scattered echoing of applause, and the next speaker was
Colonel Everard.

The Honourable Joe was rising to introduce him. The little introductory
speech was a masterpiece, for, though the Colonel had edited every word
of it, it was still in the Honourable Joe's best style, flowery and
sprinkled with quotations.

"I will not say more," it concluded magnificently, "of one whose life
and wo