we sit at their feet beholding them in the flesh and receive their teachings!  If only they, the fathers, might take us by the hand and lead us through the devious tangles of public policy!  To-day we meet here in perplexed division as to the standard-bearer for our next campaign.  If up from that past of sage counsel and unfaltering faith there might come one who could stand forth and expound the lessons that we need, we might take heart and travel boldly on.  But, gentlemen, I bring you a message of greater hope—­more profound a blessing.  Up from that past comes the standard-bearer himself!  His wise kindliness meets every test of honest gentleman; scholarship crowns his brow, Law holds her torch aloft that his feet may tread the safe way; war from him has taken tribute, but to him has given a hero’s deathless laurels.  Once in her history this State welcomed him to her councils as her gracious overlord, and now—­”

There was no doubt in their minds now.  A window-shaking demonstration bore down his voice.

Linton seized upon the beginning of silence.

“Now once again his State, groping for a hand to lead her forth to stability and progress, sees his hand and seeks to grasp it, supplicating him:  ’O father, guide me!  O wise man, teach me!  O hero, save me!’ And I name to you, gentlemen, for the candidate of the Republican party—­”

He leaped upon a settee and voiced the name of General Varden Waymouth with all the strength of his trumpet voice.  But no one heard what he said.  They all knew what he was to say.  They did not need the spoken name.

That convention had been ripening for a stampede.  Its component delegates had contained the stampede fever for weeks before they assembled.  Men leaped and screamed.  It was a storm of enthusiasm; two thousand feet furnished the thunder-roar; hats went up and came down like pelting rain; and voices bellowed like the bursting wind volleys of the gale.

Here and there, gesticulating men were trying to make seconding speeches, but the words were lost.  The chairman of the convention, grim and pale and wondering just how much damage this overturn signified to his personal interests, nodded recognition to these speakers, and allowed them to waste their words upon the welter of mere sound.

He also recognized other men who arose.  He knew them for Spinney’s adherents and divined what they were trying to say.  And having divined it, he was promptly inspired to get in with the rush of those who were climbing aboard the band-wagon.

He advanced to the edge of the platform, and by tossing his arms secured a moment of silence.  He had his own salvation to look after.

“I am glad, inexpressibly pleased, that as chairman of your convention I can now declare myself for General Waymouth; for the convention has but one name before it—­the name of Arba Spinney has been withdrawn!”