An unknown clergyman from Iowa is called to offer prayer. He is listened to in absolute silence; the great horde of men and women hold their breath; religion at least is not extinct in the people. Following the prayer comes the routine work of passing on credentials and appointing committees. This is done with celerity. The men are anxious to begin the real business.
As the last committee is named, a delegate from every one of the States is on his feet clamoring for recognition.
"Illinois has the floor," the chairman announces. This is done as a matter of courtesy to the state in which the convention is being held.
Congressman Blanchard, representing a Chicago district, is the man who receives recognition.
As he steps upon the rostrum the cheering is deafening. He is the favorite son of the state and this is the supreme moment in which he may launch his boom for the presidential nomination.
The power of his oratory is of a high order. He makes the fatal error of being non-committal; his friends see that the chance has passed him.
Favorite sons from a dozen states strive for the prize; yet for one reason or another are unsuccessful in carrying the convention, or of awakening the enthusiasm of the audience.
"No one has spoken from Pennsylvania," remarks the man in the gallery.
"There are few orators of note in that state now," he adds.
"There are very few; but their small number is counterbalanced by the quality of the men. Have you ever heard Trueman?"