Only the
silver-tongued orator, Stringer, remained. On him the opposition within
the party had decided to unite their forces. To all appearances they
were in a decided minority. There was no hope that the Republican
members of the Legislature would join them, for it seemed scarcely good
politics to rally to the support of a citizen whose statesmanship had
not been tested in preference to the Governor of the State. It was
conceded by all but the immediate followers of Stringer that Lyons would
receive the majority vote of either house, and be triumphantly elected
on the first joint ballot.
And yet the opposition to the Governor, though numerically small, was
genuine. Stringer was, as he described himself, a man of the plain
people. That is he was a lawyer with a denunciating voice, a keen mind,
and a comprehensive grasp on language, who was still an attorney for
plaintiffs, and whose ability had not yet been recognized by
corporations or conservative souls. He was where Lyons had been ten
years before, but he had neither the urbanity, conciliatory tendencies,
nor dignified, solid physical properties of the Governor. He was pleased
to refer to himself as a tribune of the people, and his thin, nervous
figure, clad in a long frock-coat, with a yawning collar and black whisp
tie, his fiery utterance and relentless zeal, bore out the character.
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