Mr. Kenyon climbed down the steps and shook hands with Mr. Ryder. Then, bowing and smiling to the right and left, he crossed the platform, leaning on the editor's arm. At the carriages there were more greetings. Stokes and Bentick were formally presented, and the Congressman mounted to a place beside them, whereat the crowd cheered again, and Stokes and Bentick looked, if possible, more miserable than before. They had a sneaking idea that a show was being made of them. Ryder took his place in the second carriage, with Cap Roberts and the Hon. Jeb Barrows, and the procession moved off up-town to the hotel, preceded by the band playing a lively two-step out of tune, and followed by a troop of bare-legged urchins. After supper the statesman was serenaded by the band, and a little later the members of the Young Men's Kenyon Club, attired in cotton-flannel uniforms, marched across from the _Herald_ office to escort him to the Rink, where he was to speak. He appeared radiant in a Prince Albert and a shiny tile, and a _boutonnière_, this time leaning on the arm of Mr. Stokes, to the huge disgust of that worthy mechanic, who did not know that a statesman had to lean on somebody's arm. It is hoary tradition, and yet it had a certain significance, too, if it were meant to indicate that Kenyon couldn't keep straight unless he was propped. A wave of fitful enthusiasm swept the assembled crowd, and Mr. Stokes's youngest son, Samuel, aged six, burst into tears, no one knew why, and was led out of the press by an elder brother, who alternately slapped him and wiped his nose on his cap. Mr. Kenyon, smiling his unwearied, mirthless smile, seated himself in his carriage. Mr. Ryder, slightly bored and wholly cynical, followed his example. Mr. Stokes and Mr. Bentick, perspiring and abject, and looking for all the world like two criminals, dropped dejectedly into the places assigned them. Only Cap Roberts and the Hon. Jeb Barrows seemed entirely at ease. They were campaign fixtures. The band emitted a harmony-destroying crash, while Mr. Jimmy Smith, the drum-major, performed sundry bewildering passes with his gilt staff. The Young Men's Kenyon Club fell over its own feet into line, and the procession started for the Rink. It was a truly inspiring moment. As soon as the tail of the procession was clear of the curb, it developed that Clarence and Spide were marshalling a rival demonstration. Six small and exceedingly dirty youngsters, with reeking torches, headed by Clarence and his trusty lieutenant, fell gravely in at the rear of the Kenyon Club. Clarence was leaning on Spide's arm. Pussy Roberts preceded them, giving a highly successful imitation of Mr. Jimmy Smith. He owned the six torches, and it was unsafe to suppress him, but the others spoke disparagingly of his performance as a side-show.