“Gentlemen,” said Bill, “I move that this meeting organize by appointing Mr. Smith Wheelwright Chairman.  As many as are in favor of this motion, please to say ‘Aye.’”

“Aye!” said the crowd, very loud and big.  And then every man looked at his neighbor, a little abashed, as if he himself had made all the noise.

“This is a free country,” continues Bill.  “Every woter has a right to a fair shake.  Contrary minds, ‘No.’”

No contrary minds.  The crowd uttered a great silence.  Every man looked at his neighbor, surprised to find how well they agreed.

“Unanimous!” Tarbox pronounced.  “No fractious minorities here, to block the wheels of legislation!”

The crowd burst into a roar at this significant remark, and, again abashed, dropped portcullis on its laughter, cutting off the flanks and tail of the sound.

“Mr. Purtett, will you please conduct the Chairman to the Chair,” says Bill, very stately.

“Make way here!” cried Perry, with the manner of a man seven feet high.  “Step out now, Mr. Chairman!”

He took a big, grizzled, docile-looking fellow patronizingly by the arm, led him forward, and chaired him on a large cylinder-head, in the rough, just hatched out of its mould.

“Bang away with that, and sing out, ‘Silence!’” says the knowing boy, handing Wheelwright an iron bolt, and taking his place beside him, as prompter.

The docile Chairman obeyed.  At his breaking silence by hooting “Silence!” the audience had another mighty bob-tailed laugh.

“Say, ‘Will some honorable member state the object of this meeting?’” whispered the prompter.

“Will some honorable mumbler state the subject of this ’ere meetin’?” says Chair, a little bashful and confused.

Bill Tarbox advanced, and, with a formal bow, began,—­

“Mr. Chairman”—­

“Say, ‘Mr. Tarbox has the floor,’” piped Perry.

“Mr. Tarbox has the floor,” diapasoned the Chair.

“Mr. Chairman and Gentlemen”—­Bill began, and stopped.

“Say, ‘Proceed, Sir!’” suggested Perry, which the senior did, magnifying the boy’s whisper a dozen times.

Again Bill began and stopped.

“Boys,” said he, dropping grandiloquence, “when I accepted the office of Orator of the Day at our primary, and promised to bring forward our Resolutions in honor of Mr. Wade with my best speech, I didn’t think I was going to have such a head of steam on that the walves would get stuck and the piston jammed and I couldn’t say a word.

“But,” he continued, warming up, “when I think of the Indian powwow we had in this very spot six months ago,—­and what a mean bloat I was, going to the stub-tail dogs with my hat over my eyes,—­and what a hard lot we were all round, livin’ on nothing but argee whiskey, and rampin’ off on benders, instead of makin’ good iron,—­and how the Works was flat broke,—­and how Dunderbunk was full of women crying over their husbands and mothers ashamed of their sons,—­boys, when I think how things was, and see how they are, and look at Mr. Wade standing there like a”—­