The moment was
critical; the veriest tyro felt the storm-spirit brooding over the hall.
The voice of the chairman was now audible.
"The chair recognizes the delegate from Marion."
"Out of order! What's his name!" howled many voices.
The chairman graciously availed himself of the opportunity to announce
the name of the gentleman he had recognized.
"Mr. Harwood, of Marion, has the floor. The convention will be in order.
The gentleman will proceed."
"Mr. Chairman, I rise to a point of order."
Dan's voice rose sonorously; the convention was relieved to find that
the gentleman in blue serge could be heard; he was audible even to Mr.
Thatcher's excited counsellors in the corridors.
"The delegate will kindly state his point of order."
The chairman was quietly courteous. His right hand rested on his gavel,
he thrust his left into the side pocket of his long alpaca coat. He was
an old and tried hand in the chair, and his own deep absorption in the
remarks of Mr. Harwood communicated itself to the delegates.
Dan uttered rapidly the speech he had committed to memory for this
occasion a week earlier. Every sentence had been carefully pondered;
both Bassett and Atwill had blue penciled it until it expressed
concisely and pointedly exactly what Bassett wished to be said at this
point in the convention's proceedings.
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