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doing something about it when you waved your arms.”

“Oh,” he said, “you know, these fellows can't sit still. They get to shuffling their feet around. They feel better if you give them a chance to scream. They then sit still for a few minutes. Maybe some of them hear the speeches, I don't know. Anyhow, it ain't the speeches that matter. It's the spirit.”

“Honey Fitz” agreed with him. I remember that I had made a good speech at the luncheon. I had thought to boil some of that over and make a main dish out of it and hand it out. So I started out in my best way. I was soon aware that they weren't listening at all. They were shuffling a little more than usual. More people were going out and more people were coming in than I had noticed previously.

When I had entered with my politician friends, “Honey Fitz” was speaking. He was holding down the table and he was pounding on it. The ice was rattling in the pitcher when he pounded. Every time he pounded they would scream. His voice would shout through and it was very enthusiastic. I had noticed that.

I sat down on the front seat to listen to him finish his oration. I soon came to the realization that he wasn't saying anything at all. He was saying the same thing over and over and over again. Yot he got a very enthusiastic