These gentlemen before him, Ellsworth said in conclusion, had chosen for their habitation one of the most delightful localities he had ever seen in all his travels.  He congratulated them.  He looked forward to seeing a prosperous city built up in this happy valley.  The country was changing, and it must change, the line of the frontier passing steadily from the east to the west across the continent.  They could not forever escape civilization.  Indeed, it had now come to them.  He hoped that they would receive it, and that they would receive him as their friend.

As he closed, Ellsworth found himself not dictating, but almost pleading.  The stern gravity of his audience removed the edge of any arrogance he might have felt.  He sat down and in turn passed his hand across his forehead, as perplexed as had been Barkley before him.  Both grew uneasy.  There was a shifting in the seats out in the half-lighted interior before them, but there came no sound of applause or comment.  Ellsworth leaned over and whispered to his associate.

“There’s something up,” said he.  “We haven’t got them going.  What’s on their minds?  Where’s Anderson?  He ought to be here.  Get him, and let’s nominate him for mayor, or something.  This thing’s going to split!”

“I’ll go out and find him,” whispered Barkley, and so slipped out of the room.

He did find him, aloof, alone, pacing slowly up and down the street, the one man needed by both divergent interests, and the one man absent.  “Good God!  Anderson,” protested Barkley.  “What are you doing out here by yourself?  We need you in there.  They’re like bumps on a log.  We can’t get them started at all.”

“That’s funny,” said Dan Anderson.

“Funny!  I don’t think it’s very funny.  You are the one supposed to understand these men, and we want you now to deliver the goods.”

“If you will pardon me, sir,” said Dan Anderson, facing him with his hands in his pockets, “I don’t exactly like that expression.”

“Like it or not,” retorted Barkley, hotly.  “You belong in there, and not out here in the moonlight studying over your maiden speech.  What are you afraid of?”

“Of nothing,” said Dan Anderson, simply.  “Or, of nothing but myself.”

“But we need another strong talk to stir them up.”

“Go make it, then.”

“What’s that!” cried Barkley, sharply; “you’ll not come in.”

“No, I’m done with it.”

“Why, damn your soul! man, you don’t mean to tell me that you’ve flunked—­that you’ve gone back on us?”

Dan Anderson bit his lip, but continued silent.

“You’ve taken our money!” exclaimed Barkley.  “We’ve hired you, bought you!  We won’t stand for any foolishness, and we won’t put up with any treachery, I want you to understand that.  Your place is in there, at the meeting—­and here you are standing around as though you were mooning over some girl.”