Frederick had been peering anxiously toward the platform. He was so far back, the crowd was so thick and the people wedged in so tightly, that he despaired of hearing or seeing anything; but he smiled a warm greeting at the Quaker. “Follow me, there are seats up front,” Friend Coffin was saying. The older man led the way down a side aisle, and there close against the wall was a little space. Frederick gratefully slipped in beside his friend. “This is fine,” he whispered, “I hated to miss anything.” He looked around at the other occupants of the side seats. He spoke worriedly. “But--But I don’t belong up here.” The Quaker smiled. “This is thy place.” He leaned closer, and his eyes were very earnest. “Douglass, I am asking thee to speak a few words to the convention this afternoon.” Frederick stared at him. He gasped. “Me? Speak?” The great hall was a vast arena packed with all the people in the world! Surely the Quaker was joking. But no, the voice was very low, but calm and sure. “Tell them thy story, Douglass, as thee have told the men at the mill. Just tell them the truth--no matter how the words come.” Frederick shook his head helplessly. He couldn’t stand up there before all those people. He tried to hear what the man on the platform was saying, but the words were meaningless. The hall was stifling hot. Men were mopping their brows with damp handkerchiefs. Frederick opened his shirt at the neck and let his coat slip off his shoulders. “Thee cannot escape thy duty, Douglass,” Mr. Coffin urged quietly. “Look about you! Today, thy people need thee to speak for them.” Frederick held his breath, and the Quaker added gravely, “And _he_ needs thee--that good man who has worked so hard needs thy help.” Frederick followed the Quaker’s eyes. He was gazing at William Lloyd Garrison, the man whom he honored and loved above all other men. How sunken and tired he looked! “He needs thee,” the Quaker said again. Frederick’s lips formed the words, though no sound came at first. “I’ll try,” he whispered. * * * * * How long it was after this that Frederick found himself on his feet, being gently pushed toward the platform, he could not have said. Only when he was standing up there before all those people did he realize that he had not replaced his coat. It was a clean shirt, fresh from Anna’s tub and iron, but--! He fumbled with the button at his neck. His fingers were stiff and clumsy. He could not button it with the faces, a sea of faces, looking up at him, waiting. Everything was so still. They were waiting for him. He swallowed. “Ladies and gentlemen--” a little girl, all big grave eyes, pushed her damped curls back and smiled at him, encouraging. Suddenly a mighty wave of realization lifted and supported him. These people were glad that he was free. They wanted him to be free! He began again.