Gibbons was in his chair, and he had rapidly taken the measure of the speaker. He saw that the address was having its effect, and that the crowd was slipping away from his control. It was a risky thing to do with such a powerful man, but he made up his mind that Braunt must be angered, when he would likely, in his violence, lose all the ground he had gained. So Gibbons quietly, with his eye, gathered up his trusty henchmen, who were scattered in different parts of the hall to give an appearance of unanimity to the shouting when the proper time came, and these men had now gradually edged to the front during the speaking. One or two had silently mounted the platform and held a whispered conference with the secretary, after which they and some others took their places behind the seated committee. When Sartwell was alluded to, Gibbons arose. “Mr. Chairman,” he said, “I cannot allow----” Braunt turned on him like a raging lion. “Don’t you interrupt me,” he cried, rolling up his sleeves, “or I’ll bash you through that window.” “Order, order!” said the chairman, faintly. “Yes, an’ you atop o’ him!” shouted the infuriated man. “I’ve done it before.” “Respect the meeting, if you have no regard for the Chair,” said Gibbons, calmly. “You talk to us as if we were a parcel of fools,” cried a man in front. Braunt, like a baited bull, not knowing in which direction to rush, turned his eyes, blazing with rage, upon the last speaker. He shook his clenched fist and bared arm at the audience. “What else are you?” he roared, at the top of his voice. “A parcel o’ dommed fools, all o’ ye. Led by the nose by a still bigger fool than any o’ ye. Yes; a set o’ chattering idiots, that’s what ye are, with not enough brains among the lot o’ ye to turn a grindstone. I know ye, a beer-sodden gang, with just enough sense to see that your pint mug’s full.” By this time those in the hall were in a state of exasperation bordering on frenzy. A small door, to the right of the stage, connecting with an alley, had been opened, and a number of the more timid, seeing a storm impending, had quietly slipped out. The meeting was now a seething mob, crying for the blood of the man who stood there defying them and heaping contumely upon it. Gibbons, his lips pale but firm, took a step forward. “We have had enough of this,” he said. “Get off the platform!”