rk among you can best speak for itself, and who will speak for
himself now, in his own person. I present to you the Republican
candidate for mayor, Colonel Everard."

And now the Honourable Joe had bowed and smiled himself into his seat,
and the great man was on his feet, and coming forward to the centre of
the stage. The first real applause of the evening greeted him, not very
hearty or sustained, but prompt at least. He looked like a very great
man indeed, as he stood acknowledging it, his most effective self, a
strong man, though so lightly built, erect and pliant of carriage, a man
with infinite reserves of power and dignity. He was smiling, and his
smile was the same that the boy by the court-house fence had seen, a
tantalizing smile of assurance and charm and power, as if he were master
of himself and the town.

This was his moment, planned for and led up to for weeks, but Colonel
Everard was slow to take advantage of it. He stood still, with his eyes
toward the rear of the hall. As he stood so, heads here and there turned
and looked where he was looking. Presently all Green River saw what the
Colonel saw. A boy was pushing his way toward the front of the hall--a
boy who had slipped quietly inside the doors unnoticed fifteen minutes
before, and came forward now just as quietly, but held their eyes as he
came. Now he had reached the stage, and he broke through the barrier of
goldenrod that fenced the short flight of steps, crushing the flowers
under his feet, and now he was on the stage confronting Colonel Everard.
It was Neil Donovan.

"Sit down," he said to the great man. "They're not going to listen to
you. They're going to listen to me."

After that he did not wait to see if the great man took his amazing
advice. He came forward alone, and spoke to Green River. He was not an
imposing figure as he stood there, only a lean, eager boy, with dark,
flashing eyes, and a face that was very pale in the glare of the
footlights. He hardly raised his tense, low-pitched voice as he spoke,
but Green River heard.

"You're going to listen to me."

And it was true. Green River was going to listen. In the middle of the
hall, where the chief delegation from Paddy Lane was massed, a ripple of
excitement promised the boy support. It was seconded by a muttering and
shuffling of feet on the rear benches, devoted to the youth of the town.
From here and there in the hall there were murmurs of protest, too,
dying out one by one,