he air with the gesture of the war horse
when he catches the first, far-off scream of the trumpet. He leaned
forward, his features twitching, his eyes burning; the fan dropped out
of his limp hand; his fingers, rapping his palm, clenched and loosened
themselves unconsciously in an overpowering agitation. His face was
white as marble, with ominous blue shadows: but every muscle was
astrain; his chest expanded; his shoulders drew back; his mouth was as
strong and firm as a young man. For a second we could see what he had
been at his prime.

Then the orator's climax came, and the name--the magic name that was its
own campaign cry in itself.

The old partisan leaped to his feet; he waved his hands above his head;
wild, strange, in his white flame of excitement. He shouted; and we all
shouted with him, the McKinley man and the Reed man vieing with each
other (I here offer my testimony as to the scope and quality of that
young Reed man's voice), and the air rang about us: "Blaine! Blaine!
James G. Blaine!" He shrieked the name again and again, goading into
life the waning applause. Then in an instant his will snapped under the
strain; his gray beard tilted in the air; his gray head went back on his
neck.

The Canton man and I caught him in time to ease the fall. We were helped
to pull him into the aisle. There were four of us by this time, his
granddaughter and the Reed "rooter," besides the Canton man and myself.

We carried him into the wide passageway that led to the seats. The Reed
young man ran for water, and, finding none, quickly returned with a
glass of lemonade (he was a young fellow ready in shifts), and with it
we bathed the old man's face.

Presently he came back, by degrees, to the world; he was not conscious,
but we could see that he was not going to die.

"He'll be all right in no time," declared the Reed man. "You had better
go back and get your seats, and keep mine!"

I assured both men that I could not return for more than a short time,
having an engagement for luncheon.

"That's all right," said the Reed man, turning to the Canton man, "I
ain't shouting when Foraker comes; you are. You go back and keep my
seat; I'll come in later on Hobart."

So the kindly Canton man returned to the convention for which he was
longing, and we remained in our little corner by the window, the young
girl fanning the old man, and the young man on the watch for a boy with
water. He darted after one; and then the girl