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,