After all, it might not be so uninteresting to listen to these people for a few minutes. It wasn't often that life presented such an opportunity. It probably would never occur again. These women on the plinth must be not alone of a different world, but of a different clay, since they not only did not shrink from disgracing themselves--women had been capable of that before--but these didn't even mind ridicule. Which was new. Just then the mother of the Gracchi came to the edge of the plinth to open the meeting. 'Friends!' she began. The crowd hooted that proposition to start with. But the pale woman with the candid eyes went on as calmly as though she had been received with polite applause, telling the jeering crowd several things they certainly had not known before, that, among other matters, they were met there to pass a censure on the Government---- 'Haw! haw!' ''Ear, 'ear!' said the deaf old newsvendor, with his free hand up to his ear. 'And to express our sympathy with the brave women----' The staccato cries throughout the audience dissolved into one general hoot; but above it sounded the old newsvendor's ''Ear, 'ear!' ''E can't 'ear without 'e shouts about it.' 'Try and keep _yerself_ quiet,' said he, with dignity. 'We ain't 'ere to 'ear _you_.' '----sympathy with the brave women,' the steady voice went on, 'who are still in prison.' 'Serve 'em jolly well right!' 'Give the speaker a chaunce, caun't ye?' said the newsvendor, with a withering look. It was plain this old gentleman was an unblushing adherent to the cause (undismayed by being apparently the only one in that vicinity), ready to cheer the chairman at every juncture, and equally ready to administer caustic reproof to her opponents. 'Our friends who are in prison, are there simply for trying to bring before a member of the Government----' 'Good old Effingham. Three cheers for Effingham!' 'Oh, yes,' said the newsvendor, 'go on! 'E needs a little cheerin', awfter the mess 'e's made o' things!' 'For trying to put before a member of the Government a statement of the injustice----' '_That_ ain't why they're in gaol. It's fur ringin' wot's-'is-name's door-bell.' 'Kickin' up rows in the street----' 'Oh, you shut up,' says the old champion, out of patience. 'You've 'ad 'arf a pint too much.' Everybody in the vicinity was obliged to turn and look at the youth to see what proportion of the charge was humour and how much was fact. The youth resented so deeply the turn the conversation had taken that he fell back for a moment on bitter silence. 'When you go to call on some one,' the chairman was continuing, with the patient air of one instructing a class in a kindergarten, 'it is the custom to ring the bell. What do you suppose a door-bell is for? Do you think our deputation should have tried to get in without ringing at the door?' 'They 'adn't no business goin' to 'is private 'ouse.'