A window-shaking demonstration
bore down his voice.
Linton seized upon the beginning of silence.
"Now once again his State, groping for a hand to lead her forth to
stability and progress, sees his hand and seeks to grasp it,
supplicating him: 'O father, guide me! O wise man, teach me! O hero,
save me!' And I name to you, gentlemen, for the candidate of the
Republican party--"
He leaped upon a settee and voiced the name of General Varden Waymouth
with all the strength of his trumpet voice. But no one heard what he
said. They all knew what he was to say. They did not need the spoken
name.
That convention had been ripening for a stampede. Its component
delegates had contained the stampede fever for weeks before they
assembled. Men leaped and screamed. It was a storm of enthusiasm; two
thousand feet furnished the thunder-roar; hats went up and came down
like pelting rain; and voices bellowed like the bursting wind volleys of
the gale.
Here and there, gesticulating men were trying to make seconding
speeches, but the words were lost.
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