He sat down.
Silence fell. Even in the Five Towns a public meeting is seldom bullied as Councillor Barlow had bullied that meeting. It was aghast. Councillor Barlow had never been popular: he had merely been respected; but thenceforward he became even less popular than before.
"I 'm sure we shall all find Councillor Barlow's heat quite excusable," the Mayor diplomatically began.
"No heat at all," the councillor interrupted. "Simply cold truth!"
A number of speakers followed, and nearly all of them were against the directors. Some, with prodigious memories for every combination of players in every match that had ever been played, sought to prove by detailed instances that Councillor Barlow and his co-directors had persistently and regularly muddled their work during thirteen industrious years. And they defended the insulted public by asserting that no public that respected itself would pay sixpence to watch the wretched football provided by Councillor Barlow. They shouted that the team wanted reconstituting, wanted new blood.
"Yes!" shouted Councillor Barlow in reply. "And how are you going to get new blood, with transfer fees as high as they are now? You can't get even an average good player for less than £200. Where 's the money to come from? Anybody want to lend a thousand or so on second debentures?"
He laughed sneeringly.
No one showed a desire to invest in second debentures of the Bursley F.C. Ltd.
Still, speakers kept harping on the necessity of new blood in the team, and then others, bolder, harped on the necessity of new blood on the board.
"Shares on sale!" cried the councillor. "Any buyers? Or," he added, "do you want something for nothing—as usual?"