The sheriff was equal to the occasion. He mounted the bar much as a plainsman mounts a horse, and standing in full view of his fellow citizens, he invited Lefty Cornwall to join him in his prominent position. Nowise loath, Lefty swung onto the bar in the most approved fashion, and stood, locked arm in arm with the dignified official of Appleton. In the mean time the bartenders, thrilled equally with surprise and pleasure, passed out the drinks to the crowded room. It was apparently a moment big in portent to Appleton, and not a heart there but pulsed big with pride in their mayor.
“Fellow citizens,” began the mayor, raising a large freckled hand for silence.
A hush fell upon the assemblage.
“Boys,” continued the mayor, after a proper silence reigned, “I haven’t got much to say.”
“Here’s to you!” yelled a voice. “I hate a guy that’s noisy.”
The mayor frowned and waved a commanding hand for silence.
“I spotted you, Pete Bartlett,” he called. “If you don’t like silence you must hate yourself.”
The crowd roared with approving laughter.
“Boys,” began Orval Kendricks again, when the laughter had subsided, “this here is a solemn occasion. I feel called upon to summon the manhood of this here town to listen to my words, and I reckon that most of the manhood of the town is within hearin’.”
A chorus of assent followed.