Major Hamilton Fish of New York called attention to the fact that the navy was unrepresented in the offices of the caucus and moved that a second vice-chairman should be appointed from that branch of the service.  A delegate from Missouri seconded the motion and amended it to read that a third vice-chairman should be appointed from the marine corps.

During the election of these officers enthusiasm reached a high pitch and in no more striking manner did the new American reveal his new character.

“Gentlemen,” said one dignified delegate (I don’t know who let him in, because just from the way he said “gentlemen” we all knew that once in his life he had practiced oratory before the bureau mirror), “I want to place in nomination the name of a man who is true blue—­”

“Name him,” shouted the crowd.

“He is not only true blue but he is thoroughly everything he ought to be in addition—­” continued the orator, coldly trying to squelch the crowd.

“Name him.”  “Shut up.”  “Aw, sit down.”  “Who wants to listen to such ‘bull’ as that?”

Each of those sentences was roared by a different man.

“This gentleman is one of whom I am sure you will be proud—­” persisted the orator, but at this direct violation of its edict the crowd began to scream its maledictions and Captain Boyce could not have stopped them with all his Tigers if the gentleman orator hadn’t taken his seat in a most dignified manner, never to rise again—­doubtless as a rebuke for the gang, but one which was thoroughly appreciated.

Thus the way of orators in the caucus!

The navy men who were nominated consisted of Goerke of New York; Goldberg, Illinois; Chenoweth, Alabama; Almon, Montana; Humphrey, New Mexico; McGrath, New Jersey; and Evans of Kentucky.  The secretary took the vote by delegations.  When Goerke got a vote the New York crowd yelled itself hoarse; New Mexico did the same for Humphrey; Alabama cheered like mad for Chenoweth and it wasn’t long before everybody picked out his candidate and yelled furiously every time he got a vote.  The New Mexico delegation occupied a proscenium box but Humphrey wasn’t prominent enough there to suit his delegation.  Before anyone thoroughly realized what was happening, Seaman Humphrey appeared on the stage, borne on the shoulders of two colonels!  Two men who had eagles on their shoulders, U.S. on their collars, and gold chevrons on their left sleeves carried on their shoulders a “gob,” a sailorman, a deck-swabbing bluejacket, as he called himself.

It was the beginning of a cavalcade of noise that fairly made ear drums ache, and, incidentally, proved a signal for the backers of other candidates.  Goerke soon was lifted aloft by a half dozen New Yorkers; Chenoweth was exhibited to the general view from the section of the orchestra occupied by his delegation, while Illinois paraded up and down the aisles with Goldberg.  Colonel Lindsley hammered the speaker’s