The speech goes on. "It is," says the orator, "the proudest day of my life, I assure you."
"Do you suppose he's gone broke?" inquire the committee men.
"It is the matchless character of our institutions--" continues the candidate.
"We'd be done up if the other fellows should indorse Corkey," says a hungry saloon-keeper.
"--The matchless character of our institutions that the people hold the reins of government."
The orator is gathering an audience. "The people" are hungry, but love of oratory is a still weaker place in their armor. The voice rises. The eye flashes. The cheeks turn crimson. The form straightens.
The orator weeps and he thunders.
"Hi--hi!" says the hungry saloon-keeper, in sudden admiration.
"America! My fellow-countrymen, it is the palm of the desert--the rock of liberty.
"We have a weapon firmer set,
And better than the bayonet;
A weapon that comes down as still
As snowflakes fall upon the sod;
But executes a freeman's will
As lightning does the will of God."