It had rained all day, but toward evening it cleared, and General Dawes walked out on his front lawn in Evanston. Its semi-privacy was completely annihilated. Great spotlights glared from the trees, moths and mosquitos buzzed around, red torchlights glowed fiercely, and 40,000 people trampled the soft greensward of his neighbors' lawns.
General Dawes advanced into the glare, carrying on his arm an ancient gentleman, smoking a stogie, whom the light disclosed as Joseph G. Cannon. After a prayer had been rendered, Uncle Joe said a few mellifluous words. Former Representative Albert...
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