“He’s going to speak at my meeting to-night. At least I want him to.”
Gergue chuckled; and he gripped Wint’s arm as though he knew a thing or two, which he might tell if he chose. “Oh, he’ll speak,” he said. “Sam’ll speak.”
“I’ve counted on him.”
“You going to speak, ain’t you?” Gergue asked.
“Why, yes. Naturally.”
“Fixed you up a speech, have you?”
“Not yet. I’ll—just say whatever comes up at the time. Anything.”
Gergue shook his head. “I tell you, Wint,” he said. “You better go on home and write you a speech. A good one, with flowers on it, and all.”
“Oh, I don’t need to.”
“I’ve seen more’n one man get up on his hind legs and go dumb. Good idea to have something on your mind before you get up.”