Corkey is an oddity. He is a new factor in politics. The rounders are
curious to hear what he is saying.

"Your honor!" cries Corkey in a loud voice.

There is a sensation of merriment, which angers the orator.

"Oh, I know you're all no-gooders," he says. "I know that as well as
any of ye."

There is a hurricane of cat-calls from the galleries.

There are cries of "Come down!" "Pull down his vest!" "See the
sawed-off!"

"Yes, 'come down'!" yells the speaker in a white heat. "That's what
you bloodsuckers make Lockwin do. He come down! I should say he did!
But I'm no soft mark--you hear me? You bet your sweet life!"

The merriment is over. This is outrageous. The dignity of this
convention has been compromised. There is a furious movement in the
rear. The tumult is again unrestrained. Corkey has blundered.

The chairman pounds for order. The police begin to "suppress the
excitement."

"Mr. Corkey, I understand, has an important announcement to make,"
cries the chair.

"You bet I _have_!" corroborates the navigator.