ated. It would have been inimical to monopolies, so the Magnates
have nullified it. They did the same thing with silver in '73. There
could be no money trust with bi-metalism."

"Do you think the Eastern delegations are strong enough to dominate this
convention?"

A tumultuous shout drowns the reply.

"Texas! Texas!" cry a thousand voices.

"California, she's all right!" cry as many more.

Delegates from the above-named states appear at two entrances.

By eleven o'clock the convention is assembled. The chairman rises and
pounds on the table with his gavel to quiet the audience.

"We will open this convention with prayer. It is the desire of our party
to lift itself out of the mire of partisan politics, and nothing is more
fitting than that an invocation to the Almighty should constitute our
initial performance."

An unknown clergyman from Iowa is called to offer prayer. He is listened
to in absolute silence; the great horde of men and women hold their
breath; religion at least is not extinct in the people. Following the
prayer comes the routine work of passing on credentials and appointing
committees. This is done with celerity. The men are anxious to begin the
real business.

As the last committee is named, a delegate from every one of the States
is on his feet clamoring for recognition.

"Illinois has the floor," the chairman announces. This is done as a
matter of courtesy to the state in which the convention is being held.

Congressman Blanchard, representing a Chicago district, is the man who
receives recognition.

As he steps upon the rostrum the cheering is deafening. He is the
favorite son of the state and this is the supreme moment in which he may
launch his boom for the presidential nomination.

The power of his oratory is of a high order. He makes the fatal error of
being non-committal; his friends see that the chance has passed him.

Favorite sons from a dozen states strive for the prize; yet for one
reason or another are unsuccessful in carrying the convention, or of
awakening the enthusiasm of the audience.

"No one has spoken from Pennsylvania," remarks the man in the gallery.

"There are few orators of note in that state now," he adds.

"There are very few; but their small number is counterbalanced by the
quality of the men. Have you ever heard Trueman?"

"I never heard him speak, but I have read his speeches. He seems to be a
true friend of the people."

"Let us call for a speech f