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“This man Hopkins,” said Mr. Watson, angrily, “is not a gentleman. He’s an impertinent meddler.”

“He ruined any good effect my speech might have created,” said Kenneth, gloomily.

“Give it up, my boy,” advised the elder man, laying a kindly hand on the youth’s shoulder. “It really isn’t worth the struggle.”

“But I can’t give it up and acknowledge myself beaten,” protested Kenneth, almost ready to weep with disappointment.

“Well, well, let’s think it over, Ken, and see what can be done. Perhaps that rascally Hopkins was right when he advised you to find some other way to serve the community.”

“I can’t do better than to make it clean—to do away with these disreputable signs,” said the boy, stubbornly.

“You made a fine speech,” declared Mr. Watson, gravely puffing his pipe. “I am very proud of you, my lad.”

Kenneth flushed red. He was by nature shy and retiring to a degree. Only his pent-up enthusiasm had carried him through the ordeal, and now that it was over he was chagrined to think that the speech had been so ineffective. He was modest enough to believe that another speaker might have done better.