The effect of these apparently simple words surpassed any effect previously obtained by the most complex flights of oratory in that hall. A young, blushing, clumsy, long-limbed, small-bodied giant stumbled along the central aisle and climbed the steps to the platform, where Denry pointed him to a seat. He was recognised by all the true votaries of the game. And everybody said to everybody: "By Gosh! It's him right enough. It's Callear!" And a vast astonishment and expectation of good fortune filled the hall. Applause burst forth, and though no one knew what the appearance of Callear signified, the applause continued and waxed.
"Good old Callear!" The hoarse shouts succeeded each other. "Good old Machin!"
"Anyhow," said Denry, when the storm was stilled, "we 've got him here, without either steam-engines or his Majesty. Will the directors of the club accept him?"
"And what about the transfer?" Councillor Barlow demanded.
"Would you accept him and try another season if you could get him free?" Denry retorted.
Councillor Barlow always knew his mind, and was never afraid to let other people share that knowledge.
"Yes," he said.
"Then I will see that you have the transfer free."
"But what about York?"
"I have settled with York provisionally," said Denry. "That is my affair. I have returned from York to-day. Leave all that to me. This town has had many benefactors far more important than myself. But I shall be able to claim this originality: I 'm the first to make a present of a live man to the town. Gentlemen—Mr. Mayor—I venture to call for three cheers for the greatest centre forward in England, our fellow-townsman."