Then pandemonium broke loose. Hundreds of voices caught up the rhythmic refrain, while hundreds more shrieked “Fake!” and a counter rhythm arose of “_Fake!_ _Fake!_ _Fake!_ _Fake!_ FAKE!” Standish, abandoning all present hope of making the audience understand that the shrill-voiced man was a hireling of Conover’s, and that the whole affair was a gigantic, well-rehearsed trick, turned to face the group on the platform. But there, at a glance, he read in a dozen pairs of eyes suspicion, contempt, disgust. “I’m sorry, Mr. Standish,” sneered the little mayor, “that your friends are over-zealous in earning their——” “Do you mean that you—that _anybody_—can believe such an absurdity?” cried Standish. “Can’t you see——?” “I can only see,” said the mayor, rising, “that I have evidently misunderstood the purpose and nature of this meeting. Good night.” To Clive’s horror the little dignitary walked off the stage, followed by two-thirds of those who had sat there with him. The majority of the boxes’ occupants followed suit. The few who remained on the platform did so, to judge from their expression, more from interest in the outcome of the riotous audience’s antics than through any faith in Clive. For by this time the erstwhile orderly place was in full riot. Individual fights and tussles were waging here and there. Men were shouting aimlessly. Women were screaming. People were hurrying in a jostling, confused mass up the aisles toward the exits, while others bellowed to them to sit still or move faster. And through all (both factions of shouters having united in a common slogan) rang to an accompaniment of smashing chairs and pounding feet that endless metrical refrain of “_Fake!_ _Fake!_ _Fake!_ _Fake!_ FAKE!” Standish, Ansel at his side, was once more at the platform’s edge, striving in vain to send his mighty voice through the cataract of noise. One tough, in the pure joy of living and rioting, had climbed over the rail of a proscenium box—the only one still occupied—and, throwing an arm about the neck of a young girl, sitting there with an elderly man and woman, tried to kiss her. The girl screamed. Her elderly escort thrust the rowdy backward, and the latter, his insecure balance on the box rail destroyed, tumbled down among the orchestra chairs. The scene was greeted with a howl of delight from kindred spirits.