A tall, lean man from California was speaking. He was the fourth or fifth on the programme, and the audience was restive under his voice, wanting to hear from the greatest of the great men there. The greatest of the great men was listening courteously with half his mind, while the other half was divided between an aching desire to crawl into his berth and forget the whole darned thing for a few hours, and recasting a certain story which might be used with effect at the beginning of his talk,--unless Las Vegas was too familiar with it. His colleagues knew the thing backward; but then, when one has traveled much with a certain group, speaking valiantly at every stop in behalf of one’s cause, one’s colleagues are going to be bored anyway when one starts speaking, so that their desires are never considered. The same old stuff is always new,--provided one has always a new audience before one. “Ladies and gentlemen,” the speaker was crying enthusiastically, “you can’t get away from the fact that progress is ever marching onward. The hand of Opportunity is lifted, knocking at your door! Whether you open or not--upon that rests your future. You can’t get away from it. One day (and that day is not far distant, ladies and gentlemen), you will awake to find yourselves in the midst of great, growing industries. The mighty river at your very door, ladies and gentlemen, will be at work for the Nation! The full measure of her might, ladies and gentlemen, will be _at your service_! Can such a stupendous thing as that, ladies and gentlemen, be placed in the hands of private interests? I say, _no_!” (The tall, lean man did not say it, he thundered the words.) “I say, no man, no group of individuals, can do a thing like that! No man--” A queer, sickening lurch of the building, forward and back, a shattering of windows drowned his voice completely. You know how it is when an earthquake intrudes upon your little thoughts, your infinitesimal activities. You suddenly know that you are nothing at all. Your very soul sickens before a mightier than thou. So it was at the banquet. The tall, lean man’s plate leaped at him, and a custardy dessert which he had not touched,--on account of dyspepsia--was deposited on his clothing in splotches. He started for the door, enraged because every one else was also starting for the door. Came a terrific, booming roar like the rolling up of the heavens into a scroll,--done carelessly and in haste. Women shrieked. Men shouted unintelligibly under the impression that they were doing something to quell the panic. Peter, stunned for a minute, jumped upon the table, one heel crunching a dish of salted almonds devastatingly. His great voice boomed above the tumult and stilled it, while each person looked to see what and why he was speaking.