“‘I’m the crater of a volcano，’ says he. ‘I’m all aflame andcrammed inside with an assortment of words and phrasesthat have got to have an exodus. I can feel millions ofsynonyms and parts of speech rising in me，’ says he， ‘andI’ve got to make a speech of some sort. Drink，’ says Andy，‘always drives me to oratory.’
“‘It could do no worse，’ says I.
“‘From my earliest recollections，’ says he， ‘alcoholseemed to stimulate my sense of recitation and rhetoric.
Why， in Bryan’s second campaign，’ says Andy， ‘they used togive me three gin rickeys and I’d speak two hours longerthan Billy himself could on the silver question. Finally，they persuaded me to take the gold cure.’
“‘If you’ve got to get rid of your excess verbiage，’ says I，‘why not go out on the river bank and speak a piece？ It seemsto me there was an old spell-binder named Cantharidesthat used to go and disincorporate himself of his windynumbers along the seashore.’
“‘No，’ says Andy， ‘I must have an audience. I feel like ifI once turned loose people would begin to call SenatorBeveridge the Grand Young Sphinx of the Wabash. I’vegot to get an audience together， Jeff， and get this oraldistension assuaged or it may turn in on me and I’d goabout feeling like a deckle-edge edition de luxe of Mrs. E.
D. E. N. Southworth.’
“‘On what special subject of the theorems and topicsdoes your desire for vocality seem to be connected with？’ Iasks.
“‘I ain’t particular，’ says Andy. ‘I am equally good andvaricose on all subjects. I can take up the matter ofRussian immigration， or the poetry of John W. Keats， orthe tariff， or Kabyle literature， or drainage， and make myaudience weep， cry， sob and shed tears by turns.’
“‘Well， Andy，’ says I， ‘if you are bound to get rid of thisaccumulation of vernacular suppose you go out in townand work it on some indulgent citizen. Me and the boyswill take care of the business. Everybody will be throughdinner pretty soon， and salt pork and beans makes aman pretty thirsty. We ought to take in 1，500 more bymidnight.’
“So Andy goes out of the Blue Snake， and I see himstopping men on the street and talking to ’em. By andby he has half a dozen in a bunch listening to him； andpretty soon I see him waving his arms and elocuting at agood-sized crowd on a corner. When he walks away theystring out after him， talking all the time； and he leads ’emdown the main street of Bird City with more men joiningthe procession as they go. It reminded me of the oldlegerdemain that I’d read in books about the Pied Piper ofHeidsieck charming the children away from the town.
“One o’clock came； and then two； and three got underthe wire for place； and not a Bird citizen came in for adrink. The streets were deserted except for some ducksand ladies going to the stores. There was only a lightdrizzle falling then.
“A lonesome man came along and stopped in front of theBlue Snake to scrape the mud off his boots.
“‘Pardner，’ says I， ‘what has happened？ This morningthere was hectic gaiety afoot； and now it seems more likeone of them ruined cities of Tyre and Siphon where thelone lizard crawls on the walls of the main port-cullis.’
“‘The whole town，’ says the muddy man， ‘is up inSperry’s wool warehouse listening to your side-kickermake a speech. He is some gravy on delivering himself ofaudible sounds relating to matters and conclusions，’ saysthe man.
“‘Well， I hope he’ll adjourn， sine qua non， pretty soon，’
says I， ‘for trade languishes.’
“Not a customer did we have that afternoon. At sixo’clock two Mexicans brought Andy to the saloon lyingacross the back of a burro. We put him in bed while hestill muttered and gesticulated with his hands and feet.
“Then I locked up the cash and went out to see whathad happened. I met a man who told me all about it. Andyhad made the finest two hour speech that had ever beenheard in Texas， he said， or anywhere else in the world.
“‘What was it about？’ I asked.
“‘Temperance，’ says he. ‘And when he got through， everyman in Bird City signed the pledge for a year.’”
