"You've saved the intellectual theatah for London, my boy! That's what you've done!" Marrier now was gripping his hand. And Edward Henry was convinced that he had.
The strident vigour of the applause showed no diminution. And through the thick, heavy rain of it could be heard the monotonous, insistent detonations of one syllable:
"'Thor! 'Thor! 'Thor! 'Thor! 'Thor!"
And then another syllable was added:
"Speech! Speech! Speech! Speech!"
Mechanically Edward Henry lit a cigarette. He had no consciousness of doing so.
"Where is Trent?" people were asking.
Carlo Trent appeared up a staircase at the back of the stage.
"You've got to go on," said Marrier. "Now, pull yourself together. The Great Beast is calling for you. Say a few wahds."
Carlo Trent in his turn seized the hand of Edward Henry, and it was for all the world as though he were seizing the hand of an intellectual and poetic equal, and wrung it.