Just after the applause that greeted Grace Goodchild's arrival had begun
to subside, and the public was about to demand that the feast, for which
they had paid, begin a bugle blew.
H. R., who was Fame since he was initials, entered the arena.
Instantly the well-trained Public Sentiment Corps began to shout,
angrily:
"_Sit_ down! _Sit down!_"
That, as intended by H. R., made all rise to their feet.
Then, and only then, did H. R. advance into the arena, followed by the
Mayor of the City of New York, the Bishop of the Diocese of the same,
and the other dignitaries.
The applause that came from the members of the Society of American
Sandwich Artists was not applause. It was fervor, frenzy, fury. They
yelled and shouted with the enthusiastic recklessness of free men who
knew that after their throats went dry ten beers, also free, would cure.
The audience, seeing and hearing their fellow-men applaud, felt
themselves left out of something. They were free men. They therefore
also applauded, even more frenziedly.
No beers; not even knowledge; merely insistence upon political
equality!
In front of the Goodchild box H. R., whose progress resembled Buffalo
Bill's minus the curls, paused. He looked intently at Grace Goodchild.
She knew something was expected of her--something spectacular,
thrilling, befitting the imperial consort. She stared back at H. R.
agonizedly. Couldn't he prompt her? What was she to do, and how and
when?
"Grace! Grace! Grace!" shouted the free sandwiches.
Instantly as well as instinctively the other ninety-nine beautiful
perfections rose in their boxes and waved their handkerchiefs.
The crowd, drawn thither by one of the noblest charities of the age,
went wild. Grace was rich! She was theirs! They cheered what belonged to
them!
Grace Goodchild, actually urged by her aristocratic friends, rose and
bowed to H. R. with a queenly air.
H. R. bowed low to her and walked on.
When he reached the stage all the bands began to play the national
anthem almost together.
A huge American flag was dropped from the middle of the roof to remind
New York what its nationality was.
When the bands finished playing there flashed a dazzling electric sign
over the stage.
In huge letters of light the people read: