There was a hush during which Farr and Colonel Dodd looked at each other, crossing their stares like long rapiers over the terraced heads.
“I fear I was wrong,” confessed Farr, gently. “But we poor folks down in the ranks don't know much about the rules, and when we are struggling to save the ones we love we are apt to forget and talk to the heart of things. I am not trying to show that I am a skilful orator, gentlemen of the convention.” He held up his arms. “I am crying for Justice!”
The delegates broke into applause once more.
And Walker Farr sent a queer look straight into the eyes of the colonel.
Conviction slapped Colonel Symonds Dodd in his mental face with a violence that made him blink!
This man was no amateur in understanding how to sway an audience. To be sure, he had transgressed parliamentary usage, but in those words he had driven home facts that all knew to be truths—truths which others had been afraid to voice, but which, once put into words in public, tied the hideous stamp of ring favoritism upon Governor Harwood, made him a candidate who could not be trusted.
The colonel understood, and he also saw plainly that the most of the audience had accepted the apology, and held no prejudice against the speaker.
“Now that I understand what the rules governing nominations are I will not break them again,” declared Farr.
But like a shrewd and not over-scrupulous lawyer he had jabbed into the proceedings a stinging truth which, though excluded by the rules, nevertheless served vitally the big purpose of his efforts; the colonel understood that, too, and turned back to his chair fairly livid with rage.
“There is a man in this state who knows true law,” continued the speaker, “and that you may be assured that he will sign a bill which is passed for the good of the people, let me tell you a little about his character.”