"The meal will be a revelation to those who talk about the high cost of living and will conclusively prove the advantage of being permitted to do business in a large way without ill-advised interference by a grandfatherly government. It thus will have an important bearing on current legislation. Each ticket-buyer will see with his own eyes the entire journey of the quarter from the pocket to the empty stomach. Also the coupon attached to every ticket, worth ten thousand dollars in cash, will be a reward not of charity alone, but of the combination of charity and brains." The audience fidgeted. They did not believe it. It was too remarkable. But, anyhow, it was the orator's own money. "There will be," pursued H. R., accusingly, "no waste, no scientific un-Christianity, no half-baked philanthropy, no nonsense. On one day next week the sun will set on our city, and not one man, woman, or child will go to bed hungry, unless it is by his doctor's orders. All the hungry who have no money shall be fed. As for the coupon, I have myself already contributed the necessary funds to take care of that." Instead of feeling irritation at the repetition, they looked at him with a respect not often seen in a church. "It has never been attempted. I realize that we cannot make lazy men prosperous nor put in brains where they were left out by a wise Providence; but we are going to abolish hunger for one day, and then see what we can do to make conditions improve permanently. And the burden will be shared alike by all--nobody more than twenty-five cents." A look of resolve came over the faces of the entire audience. It was an experiment worth trying! "Gentlemen," added H. R., sternly, "we are going to call the bluff of the anarchistic labor agitators!" A storm of applause burst from the audience. H. R. held up a hand. "In giving, it is always wise to know to whom you are giving. The Society of American Sandwich Artists, with the aid of those who have made New York what it is, pledges itself to see to it that the meals find the proper bellies. There is no such thing as scientific charity any more than there is unscientific poverty. Nobody hates to give, but everybody wishes to give wisely. I guarantee that nobody who has money to buy food with will be fed at our expense. _I guarantee this!_" "_HOW?_" burst from three hundred and eighteen throats. "That is our secret. I may add that the coupon, worth exactly ten thousand dollars in cash, is not a lottery scheme. Gentlemen, I count upon your cooperation. I thank you." He bowed, modestly stepped back and nodded to Bishop Barrows. "Adjourn," he whispered. "I have a few--" began Dr. Barrows, protestingly. "Adjourn. The reporters will print them from your manuscript." "But--" H. R. took out his handkerchief and wiped his cool, unfevered brow. He had foreseen the chairman's speech. Max Onthemaker, who had been waiting for the signal, jumped to his feet and yelled: "I move we adjourn!"