The introduction was so vehemently applauded that, had there been present
a person connected with the theatrical profession, he might have been
nervous for fear the introducer had prepared no encore. "Kedge is too
smart to take it all to himself," commented Mr. Martin. "He knows it's
half account of the man that said it."
He was not mistaken. Mr. Halloway had learned a certain perceptiveness on
the stump. Resting one hand upon his unfolded notes upon the table, he
turned toward the melancholy young man (who had subsided into the small of
his back in his chair) and, after clearing his throat, observed with
sudden vehemence that he must thank his gifted friend for his flattering
remarks, but that when he said that Carlow envied Amo a Halloway, it must
be replied that Amo grudged no glory to her sister county of Carlow, but,
if Amo could find envy in her heart it would be because Carlow possessed a
paper so sterling, so upright, so brilliant, so enterprising as the
"Carlow County Herald," and a journalist so talented, so gifted, so
energetic, so fearless, as its editor.
The gentleman referred to showed very faint appreciation of these ringing
compliments. There was a lamp on the table beside him, against which, to
the view of Miss Sherwood of Rouen, his face was silhouetted, and very
rarely had it been her lot to see a man look less enthusiastic under
public and favorable comment of himself. She wondered if he, also,
remembered the Muggleton cricket match and the subsequent dinner oratory.
The lecture proceeded. The orator winged away to soary heights with
gestures so vigorous as to cause admiration for his pluck in making use of
them on such a night; the perspiration streamed down his face, his neck
grew purple, and he dared the very face of apoplexy, binding his auditors
with a double spell. It is true that long before the peroration the
windows were empty and the boys were eating stolen, unripe fruit in the
orchards of the listeners. The thieves were sure of an alibi.
The Hon. Mr. Halloway reached a logical conclusion which convinced even
the combative and unwilling that the present depends largely upon the
past, while the future will be determined, for the most part, by the
conditions of the present. "The future," he cried, leaning forward with an
expression of solemn warning, "The future is in our own hands, ladies and
gentlemen of the city of Plattville. Is it not so? We will find it so.
Turn it over in your minds." He leaned backward and folded his hands
benevolently on his stomach and said in a searching whisper; "Ponder it."
He waited for them to ponder it, and little Mr. Swanter, the druggist and
bookseller, who prided himself on his politeness and who was seated
directly in front, scratched his head and knit his brows to show that he
was pondering it. The stillness was intense; the fans ceased to beat; Mr.
Snoddy could be heard breathing dangerously. Mr. Swanter was considering
the advisability of drawing a pencil from his pocket and figuring on it
upon his cuff, when suddenly, with the energy of a whirlwind, the lecturer
threw out his arms to their fullest extent and roared: "It is a fact! It
is carven on stone in the gloomy caverns of TIME. It is writ in FIRE on
the imperishable walls of Fate!"