At length, fixing a look upon the Girl, Rance rose and said significantly:
“I pass.”
“Oh, then, Sonora,” suggested the Girl, covering up her embarrassment as best she could, “won’t you make a speech?”
“Me—speak?” exploded Sonora; and again; “Me—speak? Oh, the devil!”
“Sh-sh!” came warningly from several of the boys.
“Why, I didn’t mean that, o’ course,” apologised Sonora, colouring, and incidentally expectorating on Bucking Billy’s boots. But to his infinite sorrow no protest worthy of the word was forthcoming from the apparently insensible Bucking Billy.
“Go on! Go on!” urged the school.
Sonora coughed behind his hand; then he began his address.
“Gents, I look on this place as something more ’n a place to sit around an’ spit on—the stove. I claim that there’s culture in the air o’ Californay an’ we’re here to buck up again it an’ hook on.”
“Hear! Hear! Hear!” voiced the men together, while their fists came down heavily upon the improvised desks before them.