"
Next morning at nine o'clock sharp the convention was called to order,
General John Duff Tolliver in the chair. Speeches were expected, and it had
been arranged that Tom Bannister should first appear, Colonel Sommerton
would follow, and then the ballot would be taken.
This order of business showed the fine tactics of the Colonel, who well
understood how much advantage lay in the vivid impression of a closing
speech.
As the two candidates made their way from opposite directions through the
throng to the platform, which was under a tree in a beautiful suburban
grove, both were greeted with effusive warmth by admiring constituents.
Many women were present, and Tom Bannister felt the blood surge mightily
through his veins at sight of Phyllis standing tall and beautiful before
him with her hand extended.
"If you lose, die game, Tom," she murmured, as he pressed her fingers and
passed on.
The young man's appearance on the stand called forth a tremendous roar of
applause. Certainly he was popular. Colonel Sommerton felt a queer shock of
surprise thrill along his nerves. Could it be possible that he would lose?
No; the thought was intolerable.
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