The introduction was so vehemently applauded that, had there been present

a person connected with the theatrical profession, he might have been

nervous for fear the introducer had prepared no encore. "Kedge is too

smart to take it all to himself," commented Mr. Martin. "He knows it's

half account of the man that said it."

He was not mistaken. Mr. Halloway had learned a certain perceptiveness on

the stump. Resting one hand upon his unfolded notes upon the table, he

turned toward the melancholy young man (who had subsided into the small of

his back in his chair) and, after clearing his throat, observed with

sudden vehemence that he must thank his gifted friend for his flattering

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remarks, but that when he said that Carlow envied Amo a Halloway, it must

be replied that Amo grudged no glory to her sister county of Carlow, but,

if Amo could find envy in her heart it would be because Carlow possessed a

paper so sterling, so upright, so brilliant, so enterprising as the

"Carlow County Herald," and a journalist so talented, so gifted, so

energetic, so fearless, as its editor.

The gentleman referred to showed very faint appreciation of these ringing

compliments. There was a lamp on the table beside him, against which, to

the view of Miss Sherwood of Rouen, his face was silhouetted, and very

rarely had it been her lot to see a man look less enthusiastic under

public and favorable comment of himself. She wondered if he, also,

remembered the Muggleton cricket match and the subsequent dinner oratory.

The lecture proceeded. The orator winged away to soary heights with

gestures so vigorous as to cause admiration for his pluck in making use of

them on such a night; the perspiration streamed down his face, his neck

grew purple, and he dared the very face of apoplexy, binding his auditors

with a double spell. It is true that long before the peroration the

windows were empty and the boys were eating stolen, unripe fruit in the

orchards of the listeners. The thieves were sure of an alibi.

The Hon. Mr. Halloway reached a logical conclusion which convinced even

the combative and unwilling that the present depends largely upon the

past, while the future will be determined, for the most part, by the

conditions of the present. "The future," he cried, leaning forward with an

expression of solemn warning, "The future is in our own hands, ladies and

gentlemen of the city of Plattville. Is it not so? We will find it so.

Turn it over in your minds." He leaned backward and folded his hands

benevolently on his stomach and said in a searching whisper; "Ponder it."

He waited for them to ponder it, and little Mr. Swanter, the druggist and

bookseller, who prided himself on his politeness and who was seated

directly in front, scratched his head and knit his brows to show that he

was pondering it. The stillness was intense; the fans ceased to beat; Mr.

Snoddy could be heard breathing dangerously. Mr. Swanter was considering

the advisability of drawing a pencil from his pocket and figuring on it

upon his cuff, when suddenly, with the energy of a whirlwind, the lecturer

threw out his arms to their fullest extent and roared: "It is a fact! It

is carven on stone in the gloomy caverns of TIME. It is writ in FIRE on

the imperishable walls of Fate!"




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