The reunion was drawing to a close. Meeting in extraordinary convention, the veterans had voted to form an Earth-Mars Veterans' Association. All that remained was to elect the officers.
Jurg Tec had the floor.
'Mr. Chairman,' he said, 'I won't make a speech. I'm just going to move a nomination for commander. No speech is necessary.'
He paused dramatically and the hall was silent.
'I nominate,' said Jurg Tec, 'Captain Johnny Parker, better known as Gramp.'
The hall exploded in an uproar. The chairman pounded for order, but the thumping of his gavel was scarcely a whisper in the waves of riotous sound that swept and reverberated in the room.
'Gramp!' howled ten thousand throats. 'We want Gramp.'
Hands lifted a protesting Gramp and bore him to the platform.
'Cut it out, dog-gone you,' yelled Gramp, but they only pounded him on the back and yelled at him and left him standing there, all alone beside the chairman's table.
Before him the convention hall rocketed and weaved in uproar. Bands played and their music did no more than form a background for the boisterous cheering. Newsmen popped up and down, taking pictures. The man beside the microphone crooked a finger at the old man and Gramp, hardly knowing why he did it, stumbled forward, to stand before the mike.