“Because I didn’t print this all out in big letters and simple words that you dolts could understand,” resumed Caleb, “you forget the holes I’ve got you and the party out of in the past, and go grouching about my ‘breaking up.’ Maybe my brain _is_ softening a bit, just to keep company with the ninnies I travel with. But it’s still a _brain_. And that’s more’n anyone else here can boast of having. Now, I’ve showed you how the land lays. Which of _you_ would ’a’ carried the Machine over it any safer, and how would he’d ’a’ done it? _You_, for instance, Staatz?” The big German sheepishly grumbled something unintelligible under his breath. “Sounds about as clear and sensible as most of your ideas, ’Dolphe,” commented Caleb. “You’ll have to learn more words’n that before you’re Boss. Now, then,” he resumed, throwing aside his stolid bearing and hammering imperiously on the table with his riding crop, “we’ll proceed to choose a new Leader. It’s irregular, but there’s easy a quorum of district leaders here. Who’ll it be that steps into Caleb Conover’s shoes? Who’ll say he’s strong enough to hold the reins he thinks I’m too weak to handle? Who’ll it be? I lifted the party and every man here from the dirt to a higher, stronger place than anyone dreamed they _could_ be lifted. Who’ll hold ’em there now that I stand aside? Speak up! Choose your leader!” “_CONOVER!_” yelled Billy Shevlin ecstatically. “Shut up, you mangy little tough!” fiercely ordered Caleb; but a half-score of eager voices had caught up the cry. About the Railroader pressed the district leaders, smiting him on the back, striving to grab his hands, over and over again vociferating his name; crying out on him to stand by them, to lead them, to forgive their ingratitude and folly. And in the centre of the exultant babel stood Caleb Conover, unmoved save for a sneering smile that twisted one corner of his hard mouth, the only man present who was not carried away by that crazy wave of reactive enthusiasm.