"Do I understand, Mr. Chairman, that a sergeant at arms has been
appointed?" shouted Mr. J.L. Walsh of the Pennsylvania delegation.
"That's right," answered the chairman.
"Then let's have him get busy," rejoined Mr. Walsh. "We didn't come
down here for a vaudeville show or to be entertained by some boob,
because we've got boobs back home."
After this remark, the minutes read "Laughter and applause" but that
doesn't half describe it.
Captain Boyce "got busy" and if the minutes could record the result of
his actions they would probably read "Order restored--almost. Quieter,
for a time."
Colonel Lindsley made a splendid presiding officer. None could have
done better, but as the stenographer who took the minutes remarked
(and she was convention-worn because she had attended so many): "This
is the funnest meeting I ever wrote up." Right. It was the funniest
meeting--funny being used in the sense of unusual as the stenographer
meant it--that anyone ever saw. In fact it was unique; absolutely the
only one of its kind. Because the delegates were unique. There never
was anything like them in all the history of the country. They had
gone into training camps like Bill, very tired, anaemic, with a shop
and office pallor; and they came out of the war like Bill,--new,
virile, interested, placing a value on themselves which would have
been unthinkable prior to April 6, 1917.
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