"Mr. Richard Falkner, the chairman of the committee, will
make the report, and at their request, will speak for a few moments
on the subject."
As Dick arose from his place in the rear of the stage and stepped
forward, the saloon keeper turned to his companion, and in a loud
whisper said, "Say, aint he that bum printer of Udell's?"
The other nodded and then replied, as his companion began to speak
again, "Shut up, let's hear what he is going to say."
As Dick came slowly forward to the front of the rostrum, and stood for
a moment as though collecting himself, the audience, to a man almost,
echoed the thought that the saloon keeper had so roughly expressed.
"Could it be possible that this was the poor tramp who had once gone
from door to door seeking a chance to earn a crust of bread?" And then
as they looked at the calm, clear-cut, determined features, and the
tall, well-built figure, neatly clothed in a business suit of brown,
they burst into involuntary applause. A smile crept over Dick's face
as he bowed his handsome head in grateful acknowledgment. And then he
held up his hand for silence.
Instantly a hush fell over the audience, and in a moment they were
listening, with intense interest, to the voice of the once tramp
printer.
"Our president has already detailed to you an account of the meeting
preceding this. You understand that I am but the mouthpiece of the
council appointed at that time, and that I do but speak their will,
their thoughts, their aims, as they have voiced them in our meetings.
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