“Order!” scream the bouncers and police.  They desire to hear the platform.  It is the hinge on which liberty hangs.  It is the brass idol of politics.

“And the peace, prosperity and general happiness of the American people will ever remain dear to the party which saved the union and now reaches a fraternal hand across the bloody chasm!” So reads the clerk.

“That’s what!  We win on that!  They can’t answer to that!”

“We demand a free ballot and a fair count!”

“No more bulldozing!” exclaims the bouncer who has heard the plank.

“We guarantee to the sovereign electors of the First district, and to the whole population of the nation a reform of the civil service and an entire abolition of the spoils system.”

“I suppose,” says the bouncer, “that things is going on too open in Washington.”

The reading ceases.

“Ki-yi!” “Hooray!” “He-e-e-e-e-e!” “Zip-zip-zippee!”

There is a crash of peanuts, a tornado of bad air, a tempest of wild and joyous noise.

“The platform was received with genuine enthusiasm.  It was adopted without a dissenting voice.”  Thus the reporters write hurriedly.

There has been an uproar ever since the question was put.  Now, if the delegate quicken his ear, he may hear the chairman commanding: 

“All those in favor will vote ‘aye!’”

Again there is the tempest.  The Harpwood delegates have voted aye!

“What is it?” ask most of the delegates.

“Lockwin is nominated by acclamation,” comes the answer from the front.

“Oh, is he?” say the delegates, Harpwood men and all.

There is a numerous outgo for liquor.  A man is escorted to the stage.  He is cheered by those who see him.  Most of the leading delegates are bargaining for places on the central committee.  The Harpwood men are to be taken care of.

The speech goes on.  “It is,” says the orator, “the proudest day of my life, I assure you.”

“Do you suppose he’s gone broke?” inquire the committee men.

“It is the matchless character of our institutions—­” continues the candidate.

“We’d be done up if the other fellows should indorse Corkey,” says a hungry saloon-keeper.

“—­The matchless character of our institutions that the people hold the reins of government.”

The orator is gathering an audience.  “The people” are hungry, but love of oratory is a still weaker place in their armor.  The voice rises.  The eye flashes.  The cheeks turn crimson.  The form straightens.

The orator weeps and he thunders.

“Hi—­hi!” says the hungry saloon-keeper, in sudden admiration.

“America!  My fellow-countrymen, it is the palm of the desert—­the rock of liberty.

  “We have a weapon firmer set,
  And better than the bayonet;
    A weapon that comes down as still
  As snowflakes fall upon the sod;
    But executes a freeman’s will
  As lightning does the will of God.”