Perhaps it was because I was watching him so closely that I saw
the sudden change come to his face. The lips lost their perfunctory
smile and settled into determined lines. The eyes, under their shaggy
brows, glowed with sudden fire. The entire pose and air of the man
became curiously alert, as if with the eager impatience of one who has
determined upon a certain course of action and is anxious only to be up
and doing. Very soon after that he was introduced, and, amid deafening
cheers, rose to his feet. Then, very quietly, he began to speak.
We had heard he was an orator. Doubtless many of us were familiar with
his famous nickname "Silver-tongued Joe." We had expected great things
of him--a brilliant discourse on the tariff, perhaps, or on our foreign
relations, or yet on the Hague Tribunal. But we got none of these. We
got first a few quiet words of thanks and appreciation for the welcome
extended him; then we got the picture of an everyday home just like
ours, with all its petty cares and joys so vividly drawn that we thought
we were seeing it, not hearing about it. He told us it was a little home
of forty years ago, and we began to realize, some way, that he was
speaking of himself.
"I may, you know, here," he said, "for I am among my own people.
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