"Mr. Prisidint and gintlemin," with a low, sweeping bow from left to right, "and Jarge Double-ye Walker." Here he cleared his throat to allow his sarcasm time to penetrate the understanding of his hearers. It did. "Whidther or not I am a fair example uv _ahl_ Mr. Hinry Haitch Cutting Esquire's fait'ful follyers, I am unabil to say, they bein' so large in noomber, by God's justice. _But_, Mr. Prisidint and gintlemin, and Jarge Double-ye Walker, wid ahl modesty, I do claim to be a fair example av some thirty-foor av Mr. Hinry Haitch Cutting Esquire's fait'ful follyers, who owns bechune thim two t'ousand wan hunder' and sivin shares, countin' me own five hunder'. They are ivery wan av thim Oirish, includin' mesilf, and I have the proxies av ivery wan av thim, includin' me own. Put that in your poipe, Jarge Double-ye Walker." The royal blood was getting hot. A round of applause burst from Mr. Cutting's party, but it quickly subsided at the sharp rap of the president's gavel upon the table. This, however, had little effect upon O'Connor. The royal blood was now at boiling-point. "Moreover, Jarge Double-ye Walker," he continued, too quickly for interruption, and emphasizing each clause with clenched fists, "they pays their taxes, they pays their bills. They has paid for their little hard-earned holdin's in this company, and—some av thim owns tinimint-houses, but not one wid bad plumbin' and defective drainage, Jarge Double-ye Walker." Caution had been royally thrown to the winds. The president rapped hard and long upon his desk. The listeners moved uneasily in their seats. "Mr. O'Connor," the president said, sharply, "you must confine your remarks to the business in hand and address them to the chair, or I must ask you to take your seat." "I ax your pardon, Mr. Prisidint," said O'Connor. He was now his old self, and went on with homely courtesy, to say: "It is my wish, sor, to say just a few worruds more regyardin' me idee av phwat conshtitutes the fitness av a man for the job av managin' the affairs av odthers than himself—wid your kind permission, Mr. Prisidint, and I'll not be long, at all, at all." The president bowed. As the old Irishman continued, his voice grew soft and tender, at times sinking almost to a whisper.