d
myself thrust to the front of the speakers' stand, with applause
following itself, and O'mie, the mischievous rascal, striking off a few
bars of "See, the Conquering Hero Comes!"

I was taken so completely by surprise that I thought the earth
especially unkind not to open at once and let me in. It must have been
something of my inheritance of my father's self-control, coupled with my
life experience of having to meet emergencies quickly, which all the
children of Springvale knew, that pulled me through. The prolonged
cheering gave me a moment to get the mastery. Then like an inspiration
came the thought to break away from the beaten path of local politics
and to launch forth into a plea for larger political ideals. I cited the
Civil War as a crucible, testing men. I did not once mention my father,
but the company knew his proud record, and there were many present who
had fought and marched and starved and bled beside him, men whom his
genius and his kindness had saved from peril, even the peril of death.
And then out of the fulness of a heart that had suffered, I pled for the
lives and homes of the settlers on our Plains frontier. I pictured, for
I knew how to picture, the anguish of soul an Indian raid can leave in
its wake, and the duty we owe to the homes, our high privilege as strong
men and guardians to care for the defenceless, and our opportunity to
repay a part at least of the debt we owe to the Union soldier by giving
a State's defence to these men, who were homesteading our hitherto
unbroken, trackless plains, and building empire westward toward the
baths of sunset.

The effort was so boyish, so unlike every other speech that had been
made, and yet so full of a young man's honest zeal and profound
convictions from a soul stirred to its very depths, that the audience
rose to their feet at my closing words, and cheer followed cheer, making
the air ring with sound.

When the meeting had finished, I found myself in the centre of a group
of men who knew John Baronet and just wouldn't let his son get away
without a handshake. I was flushed with the pleasure of such a reception
and was doing my best to act well, when a man grasped my hand with a
grip unlike any other hand I had ever felt, so firm, so full of
friendship, and yet so undemonstrative, that I instinctively returned
the clasp. He was a man of some thirty years, small beside me, and there
was nothing unusual in his face or dress or manner to attract my