Farr climbed upon a settee.  He stood there, silent and waiting, and his expression, poise, and mien wrought for him more effectively than speech.

He towered over all the heads.  He was markedly not one of those New-Englanders there assembled.  His mass of dark-brown hair, his garb, the very set of his head on his shoulders, differed from the physical attributes of all others in the hall.  And, as the delegates continued to shout for the question to be put, he turned slowly so that his expression of dignified and mild protest and appeal was visible to all.  And as he turned he gave the girl in the gallery a long look.

The chairman pounded with his gavel.

“I second the motion,” called a delegate, taking advantage of the first moment of silence.

There was another roaring chorus of, “Question!”

But Walker Farr remained standing on the settee, waiting patiently.  He showed no confusion.  There was added dignity as well as appeal in his attitude and expression.

“Before that vote is taken I want to say one word as a man to men,” shouted a delegate.  “It’s plain to be seen that that man standing there is a gentleman.  We are sent here to attend a meeting for the good of our party.  If, as delegates, we refuse to listen to a gentleman because we’re in too much of a hurry, we’d ought to be ashamed of ourselves.  If, on the other hand, we’re afraid to listen to him, whatever it is he wants to say, then God save this party of ours!”

That was a sentiment which promptly struck fire in that assemblage.

There before their eyes stood the subject of that challenge, stalwart, modest, appealing silently—­the sort of appeal which won.

The galleries broke into applause first.  Then the delegates took up the demonstration in behalf of fair play.  They beat their hands and pounded their feet.  The applause from the galleries had more or less of rebuke in it, because it began while the challenger’s voice still echoed in the great hall.

The chairman’s gavel thumped ferociously.

Colonel Dodd cursed under his breath.  He had been on the trail of that convention, its movements, its progress, as a hound dog would follow the trail of a fox.  He had seen it safely headed for the corner where it would be run to earth.  He detected sudden peril in this threat of a detour.

“Good Jericho!” gasped a committeeman near him.  “The chairman ain’t letting this convention get away from him, is he?”

It was natural alarm in the case of a man who feared to allow any expression in a convention except such as had been arranged for previously and had been passed upon by those in power.

“This isn’t the kind of convention that will get away!” hissed the colonel in reply, bolstering his own convictions that all was safely harnessed.  “But I don’t want any fooling.”

He caught the eye of his nephew and summoned him with an impatient jerk of the head.