And then rose the Chairman—­Comrade Dr. Service.  He was a fine, big figure of a man, with grey moustache and beard trimmed to a point; his swelling chest was covered by clean white linen and tight-fitting broad-cloth, and he made a most imposing chairman, reflecting credit on the movement.  He cleared his throat, and told them that they had come that evening to listen to one of America’s greatest orators, and that therefore he, the Chairman, would not make a speech; after which he proceeded to make a speech.  He told them what a grave hour this was, and how the orator would tell them its meaning, after which he proceeded to tell most of the things which the orator would tell.  This was a weakness of Comrade Dr. Service—­but one hesitated to point it out to him, because of his black broad-cloth suit and his imposing appearance, and the money he had put up to pay for the hall.

At last, however, he called on the Liederkranz again, and a quartet sang a German song and then an encore.  And then came Comrade Gerrity, the hustling young insurance-agent who was organizer for the local, and whose task it was to make a “collection speech.”  He had humorous ways of extracting money—­“Here I am again!” he began, and everybody smiled, knowing his bag of tricks.  While he was telling his newest funny story, Jimmie was unloading the littlest infant into Lizzie’s spare arm, and laying the other on the seat with its head against her knee, and getting himself out into the aisle, hat in hand and ready for business; and as soon as the organizer ceased and the Liederkranz resumed, Jimmie set to work gathering the coin.  His territory was the reserved-seat section up in front, where sat the two mighty magnates.  Jimmie’s knees went weak, but he did his duty, and was tickled to see each of the pair drop a coin into the hat, to be used in overthrowing their power in Leesville!

IV

The hats were taken to the box-office and emptied, and the collection-takers and the Liederkranz singers resumed their seats.  An expectant hush fell—­and then at last there strode out on the stage the Candidate.  What a storm broke out!  Men cheered and clapped and shouted.  He took his seat modestly; but as the noise continued, he was justified in assuming that it was meant for him, and he rose and bowed; as it still continued, he bowed again, and then again.  It had been the expectation of Comrade Dr. Service to come forward and say that, of course, it was not necessary for anyone to introduce the speaker of the evening; but the audience, as if it had read the worthy doctor’s intention, kept on applauding, until the Candidate himself advanced, and raised his hand, and began his speech.

He did not stop for any oratorical preliminaries.  This, he said—­and his voice trembled with emotion—­was the solemnest hour that men had ever faced on earth.  That day on the bulletin-board of their local newspaper he had read tidings which had moved him as he had never been moved in his life, which had almost deprived him of the power to walk upon a stage and address an audience.  Perhaps they had not heard the news; he told it to them, and there sprang from the audience a cry of indignation.