John set to work on his speech with his usual eagerness and energy. His heart was in it, and the prospect of a contest of wit or muscle always stirred him. He wrote, rewrote, cut down, filled in and polished until Gray, his friend and critic, pronounced it "good stuff."
In the meantime, he not only kept at work at his studies, his duties as janitor and paper boy, but he was at work at something else that he thought might prove most important.
At a half-mile race track, a little distance out, a very early rising citizen, if he happened to be in that vicinity at daybreak, would have wondered greatly to see a half-clad figure on an old bicycle go flying round and round the track. If, overcome by curiosity, he had waited a while, he would have seen the same figure, neatly clothed, appear from under the grand stand carrying a bundle of papers under his arm. Then if he watched he would see him mount an old bicycle and ride off. But this performance took place so very early that no one witnessed it.
At last the day of the Debating Society's open meeting came—the day on which John was to make his first public appearance. His speech was complete, memorized, and ready for delivery. He spouted it for the last time to Gray, who put the stamp of his approval on it and advised him to forget it all till the time came to speak.
The Opera House was crowded when John and Gray reached it, for the town's people took great interest in its institutions, and of these the academy was one of the most important.
John looked out from the wings on the sea of upturned faces, appalled.
Beeman came first. He went out before the audience, cool, self-possessed, graceful, and delivered his oration smoothly, forcibly, and well. He chose the popular side, and the audience rewarded him with generous applause.
Then John heard the chairman announce, "Oration by John Worth."
He walked out from the dimness of the flies into the full glare of the brightly lighted stage, bewildered, and, without any preliminaries, began: