No one moved.

“Or does anybody want any more of the shredded tan bark?  No?  Or will somebody have another spoonful of sunflower seeds?”

There was still no sign of assent.

“Very well, then,” said Mr. Bryan, “the banquet, as such, is over, and we now come to the more serious part of our business.  I need hardly tell you that we are here for a serious purpose.  We are here to do good.  That I know is enough to enlist the ardent sympathy of everybody present.”

There was a murmur of assent.

“Personally,” said The Lady Pacifist, “I do nothing else.”

“Neither do I,” said the guest who has been designated The Philanthropist, “whether I am producing oil, or making steel, or building motor-cars.”

“Does he build motor-cars?” whispered the humble person called The Man in the Street to his fellow, The General Public.

“All great philanthropists do things like that,” answered his friend.  “They do it as a social service so as to benefit humanity; any money they make is just an accident.  They don’t really care about it a bit.  Listen to him.  He’s going to say so.”

“Indeed, our business itself,” The Philanthropist continued, while his face lighted up with unselfish enthusiasm, “our business itself—­”

“Hush, hush!” said Mr. Bryan gently.  “We know—­”

“Our business itself,” persisted The Philanthropist, “is one great piece of philanthropy.”

Tears gathered in his eyes.

“Come, come,” said Mr. Bryan firmly, “we must get to business.  Our friend here,” he continued, turning to the company at large and indicating the Negro President on his right, “has come to us in great distress.  His beautiful island of Haiti is and has been for many years overwhelmed in civil war.  Now he learns that not only Haiti, but also Europe is engulfed in conflict.  He has heard that we are making proposals for ending the war —­indeed, I may say are about to declare that the war in Europe must stop—­I think I am right, am I not, my friends?”

There was a general chorus of assent.

“Naturally then,” continued Mr. Bryan, “our friend the President of Haiti, who is overwhelmed with grief at what has been happening in his island, has come to us for help.  That is correct, is it not?”

“That’s it, gentlemen,” said the Negro President, in a voice of some emotion, wiping the sleeve of his faded uniform across his eyes.  “The situation is quite beyond my control.  In fact,” he added, shaking his head pathetically as he relapsed into more natural speech, “dis hyah chile, gen’l’n, is clean done beat with it.  Dey ain’t doin’ nuffin’ on the island but shootin’, burnin’, and killin’ somethin’ awful.  Lawd a massy! it’s just like a real civilised country, all right, now.  Down in our island we coloured people is feeling just as bad as youse did when all them poor white folks was murdered on the Lusitania!”