His voice grew so much in volume that people at Christadelphian and other crowds near the iron gates deserted these, and came across in the hope of better sport. One of his arguments created some dissension, and two men, detaching themselves from the crescent, went off to debate it, and an interested circle formed around these, listening with almost pained interest, and seemingly (from the nodding of their heads) convinced by each argument in turn. The round-faced young man on the Windsor chair, now aiming the fist of one hand into the palm of the other as he laboured at an argument, and giving a tremendous and convincing thump as he made his point, noted the new crowd with approval: it was good to have said the stimulating thing. There were no interrupters now, but occasionally a voice would throw an approving sentence, caught neatly by Herbert Barnes, and used if he thought it wise or necessary; his best retorts were given with a glance at the one young woman of the crowd. He was in the middle of a long sentence decked out with many a paraphrase, and whole regiments of adjectives hurrying to the support of a noun, when the hem of his jacket was pulled, and he stopped. “Surely,” he said, in an undertone, “the time ain’t up?” The man next him replied, “Oh, ain’t it though?” rather caustically. “Friends,” said Herbert resuming his quiet voice, “I’m afraid I’ve kept you rather long. We’ve had opportunities before of meetin’ each other; we shall ’ave opportunities again. I ’ave only to add one word.” The man next to him frowned up at him on hearing this ominous phrase. “It’s my firm and steadfast opinion that we shall increase our power and magnify our strength only by sticking close, quite close, shoulder to shoulder, in what I may call the march of progress. Not otherwise shall we see the risin’ sun salute the dawn—” (a momentary frown from the lame young woman had disconcerted him)—“of labour’s triumph: not otherwise shall we—shall we—” “Gain,” prompted the young man next to him, sulkily. “Gain—thank you—gain the respect of future ages and the admiration of posterity; not otherwise shall we lead others on in that battle which, to use the language of metaphor—” “I say, old man,” whispered his neighbour, “really! Play the game.” “I will not pursue the train of thought,” said Erb, “on which I had, in a manner of speakin’, embarked. One an’ all, friends—thank you—kind ’tention—I now give way!” “Feriends!” shouted the next man, stepping quickly on the chair, “our comrade from Berminsey has been so far carried away by his own eloquence as to overstep his time. In these circs, I will abstain from all preliminary remarks and come to the point at once. First of all, ’owever—”