Then, in its perfunctory course, the name of Martin W. Hammond of Gainsport was called. The big man arose promptly. But instead of sitting down with a bow and a word of greeting, as the man before him had done, he marched straight down the table to the speakers’ position in front of the microphone. “Gentlemen, I beg a moment’s indulgence,” he began in deep, mellow tones that filled the suddenly silent hall and rang in the ears of the greater radio audience in a hundred thousand homes. “I did not come prepared to make a speech, but I cannot let this occasion pass without saying certain things that the Honorable Mr. Forsythe left unsaid.” Boss Quaid grunted and kicked Barney’s shins. Barney turned and winked at Jim Neenan at the little table. Neenan and his gang jumped to their feet with a yell of “Hurrah for Forsythe! Hurrah for the next Governor! Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!” They chanted it in chorus, crowding to the edge of the platform, and leaning almost over the speakers’ table, with their faces only a few feet from the ringing microphone. They kept it up, their cheers alternated with catcalls. The tumult spread through the big hall like a contagion. The whole place was in an uproar. For a minute or two Hammond stood facing the clamor, a sardonic smile on his face. Then as the noise continued he leaned over the microphone and tried to go on with his speech in an effort to reach his radio audience at least. But the young cheer leaders bent closer to the instrument and redoubled their efforts. The ether waves bore only an inarticulate roar. Twice when the confusion subsided a little he tried it again, only to be thwarted by a renewal of the racket. Here and there through the throng there were cries of protest from the fairer-minded. There were growing indications that the meeting might break up in a riot. The toastmaster stood helpless, his eyes fixed on the boss, who regarded him with an indulgent grin. At length Hammond gave it up altogether. With a bow and a smile, he turned and walked out of the hall. At this gesture a partial hush fell on the crowd. There were cries of “Shame!” “Call him back!” “Give him a chance!” Several fist fights were threatened among some of the more explosive of the faithful. The toastmaster began gesturing for silence. Then Jim Neenan leaped to the center of the speakers’ table and gave an elaborate caricature of the presiding officer’s gestures. As soon as he could make himself heard, he shouted: “Gentlemen, inasmuch as Mr. Hammond had to catch a train and could not make a long speech, I’ve been asked to go on with it.” Thereupon the vaudeville artist launched into a parody of a political speech that in a few minutes had restored the crowd to hilarious good humor. At length the orchestra struck up “Home, Sweet Home,” and the crowd filed out, most of them convinced that the whole episode had been a bit of horseplay staged to give a light touch to a successful occasion. II