Wilksley was the first candidate nominated, a gentleman from the fourteenth delivering a bombastic oration in pompous periods, accompanied by lofty gestures. He was followed by an understudy, who made an ineffective effort to support his predecessor. "A ricochet shot," commented Joe. "Wait till Dave hits the bullseye." The supporting representatives of the dark horse made short, forceful speeches. Then followed a brief intermission, while David called a substitute _pro tem_ to the speaker's desk. He stepped to the platform to make the nominating speech for Hume, the speech for which every one was waiting. There was a hush of expectancy, and M'ri felt little shivers of excitement creeping down her spine as she looked up at David, dauntless, earnest, and compelling, as he towered above them all. In its simplicity, its ring of truth, and its weight of conviction, his speech was a masterpiece. "A young Patrick Henry!" murmured the Judge. M'ri made no comment, for in that flight of a second that intervened between David's speech and the roar of tumultuous applause, she had heard a voice, a young, exquisite voice, murmur with a little indrawn breath, "Oh, David!" M'ri turned in surprise, and looked into the confused but smiling face of a lovely young girl, who said frankly and impulsively: "I don't know who Mr. Hume may be, but I do hope he wins." M'ri smiled in sympathy, trying to place the resemblance. Then her gaze wandered to the man beside the young girl. "You are Carey Winthrop!" she exclaimed. The man turned, and leaned forward. "Mrs. Thorne, this is indeed a pleasure," he said, extending his hand. Joe then swung his chair around into their vision. "Oh, Joe!" cried the young girl ecstatically. "And where is Janey?" The balloting was in progress, and there was opportunity for mutual recalling of old times. Then suddenly the sibilant sounds dropped to silence as the result was announced. Wilksley had the most votes, the dark horse the least; Hume enjoyed a happy medium, with fifteen more to his count than forecast by the man behind the button, as Joe designated Knowles. In the rush of action from the delegates, reporters, clerks, and messengers, the place resembled a beehive. Then came another ballot taking. Hume had gained ten votes from the Wilksley men and fifteen from the dark horse, but still lacked the requisite number. From the little retreat where Hume's manager was ensconced, with his hand on the throttle, David emerged. He looked confident and determined.