It was a singular thing to see the farmers suddenly begin to ask themselves why they should stand quietly by while the townsmen monopolized all the offices and defied the farmers to make a change.  They laughed at the charges of chicanery in office, and openly said that “no man with corns on his hands and hayseed in his hair can be elected to office in the county.”  This speech was of the greatest value to the young champions.  It became their text.

The speech that made Bradley famous among the farmers came about the middle of October.  It was an open-air meeting in the Cottonwood township, one Saturday afternoon.  He and Milton drove out to their appointment in a carriage which Milton had borrowed.  It was a superb Indian summer day, and they were both very happy.  Each had his individual way of showing it.  Milton put his heels on the dash-board, and sung or whistled all the way out, stopping only occasionally to say: 

“Aint this boss?  This is what I call doin’ a thing up brown.  Wish I could do this for a stiddy business.”

Bradley smiled at his companion’s fun.  He felt the pride and glory of it all, but he couldn’t express it as Milton did.  It was such a magnificent thing to be thus selected to push on a campaign.  The mere idea of the crowd waiting out there for their arrival had something royal in it.  And then this riding away into a practically unknown part of the county to speak before perfect strangers had an epic quality.  Great things seemed coming to him.

They found quite an assembly of farmers, notwithstanding the busy season.  It showed how deep was the interest in the campaign, and Milton commented upon it in beginning his speech.

“If a farmer ever gets his share of things, he’s got to take time to turn out to caucuses and meetings, and especially he’s got to stop work and vote.”

Bradley arose after Milton’s speech, which pleased the farmers with its shrewdness and drollery, feeling at a great disadvantage.

“My colleague,” he began (preserving the formality of the Delta Society debates), “has told you of the ring that has controlled the officers of this county for so long, but he hasn’t told you of the inside facts.  I aint fightin’ in this campaign to put the town people out and the farmers in; I’m fightin’ to put thieves out and honest men in.”

This was a blow straight out from the shoulder and was followed by great applause.  But a few voices cried: 

“Take that back!”

“I won’t take anything back that I know is the truth.”

“Yes, you will!  That’s a lie, an’ you know it!” shouted an excited man a short distance away.

“Let me tell you a story,” Bradley went on slowly.  “Last session of court a friend of mine was on the jury.  When court adjourned, he took his order on the county to the treasurer and asked for his pay.  The treasurer said, ’I’m sorry, but they aint any funds left for the jurors’ fees.’

“‘Can’t you give me some out of some other fund?’

“‘No, that won’t do ­can’t do that.’

“‘Well, when will yeh have some money in?’

“‘Well, it’s hard tellin’ ­in two or three months, probably.’

“’Well, I’d like the money on this order.  I need it.  Can’t I git somebody to cash it for me?’

“’Well, I dunno.  I guess they’ll take it at the store.  My brother John might cash it ­possibly, as an accommodation.’

“Well, my friend goes over to Brother John’s bank, and Brother John cashes the order, and gives him eight dollars for it.  Brother John then turns in the order to the treasurer and gets twelve dollars for it, and then they ‘divvy’ on the thing.  Now, how’s that for a nice game?”

“It’s a damn lie!” shouted an excited man in the foreground.  He had his sleeves rolled up and kept up a continual muttering growl.

“It’s the truth,” repeated Bradley.  There was a strong Russell contingent in the meeting, and they were full of fight.  The angry man in front repeated his shout: 

“That’s a lie!  Take it back, or I’ll yank yeh off’n that wagon box.”

“Come and try it,” said Bradley, throwing off his coat.

The excitement had reached the point where blows begin.  Several irresponsible fellows were urging their companion on.

“Jump ’im!  Jump ’im, Hank!  We’ll see fair play.”

“Stand yer ground, Brad!” shouted the friends of the speaker.  “We’ll see they come one at a time.”

“Oh, see here!  No fightin’,” shouted others.  The man Hank was not to be silenced.  He pushed his way to the wagon-wheel and shook his extended fist at the speaker.

“Take that back, you” ­

Bradley caught him by his uplifted wrist, and bracing himself against the wheel, jerked his assailant into the wagon-box, and tumbled him out in a disjointed heap on the other side before he could collect his scattered wits.

Then Bradley stood up in his splendid height and breadth.  “I say it’s the truth; and if there are any more rowdies who want ‘o try yankin’ me out o’ this wagon, now’s your time.  You never’ll have a better chance.”  Nobody seemed anxious.  The cheers of the crowd and the young orator’s determined attitude discouraged them.  “Now I’ll tell yeh who the man was who presented that order.  It was William Bacon; mebbe some o’ you fellers want to tell him he lies.”

He finished his speech without any marked interruption, and was roundly congratulated by the farmers.  On the way back to Rock River, however, he seemed very much depressed, while Milton exulted over it all.

“Gosh!  I wish I had your muscle, old man!  I ain’t worth a cent in things like that.  Cæsar!  But you snatched him bald-headed.”

“Makes me feel sick,” Bradley said.  “I ain’t had but one squabble before since I was a boy.  It makes me feel like a plug-ugly.”

Milton was delighted with it all.  It made such a capital story to tell!  “Say Brad, do you know what I thought of when you was yankin’ that feller over the wheel?  Scaldin’ hogs!  You pulled on him just as if he was a three-hundred pound shote.  It was funny as all time!”

But Bradley had trouble in going to sleep that night, thinking about it.  He was wondering what She would have thought of him in that disgraceful row.  He tried to remember whether he swore or not.  He felt, even in the darkness, her grave, sweet eyes fixed upon him in a sorrowful, disappointed way, and it made him groan and turn his face to the wall, to escape the picture of himself standing there in the wagon, with his coat off, shouting back at a band of rowdies.

But the story spread, and it pleased the farmers immensely.  The boldness of the charge and the magnificent muscle that backed it up took hold of the people’s imagination strongly, and added very greatly to his fame.

When the story reached Judge Brown, he was deeply amused.  On the following Monday morning, as Brad was writing away busily, the Judge entered the room.

“Well, Brad, they say you called the Russells thieves.”

“I guess perhaps I did.”

“Well, aint that goin’ to embarrass you a little when ­when you’re calling on Nettie?”

“I aint a-goin’ to call there any more.”

“Oh, I see!  Expect the colonel to call on you, eh?”

“I don’t care what he does,” Bradley cried, turning and facing his employer.  “I said what I know to be the truth.  I call it thieving, and if they don’t like it, they can hate it.  I aint a-goin’ to back down an inch, as long as I know what I know.”

“That’s right!” chuckled the Judge.  As a Democrat, he rejoiced to see a Republican ring assaulted.  “Go ahead, I’ll stand by you, if they try the law.”