“Yes,” added another, “an’ when a feller’s built a house an’ is payin’ fer it in the Buildin’ an’ Loan, a strike don’t look good, neither. If a feller can’t make his payments, he loses his house, without any ifs or ands about it.”
“Pshaw!” put in the young fellow, easily. “The brotherhood’ll take care of you. You won’t starve nor lose your house, neither.”
“Mebbe not. But if I loses my job, a lot o’ good my house’ll do me, won’t it?”
“Lose yer job? How kin you do that?”
“Easy enough. I’ve seen—”
But a sudden shout from the door interrupted him.
“Here’s Nixon! Here’s Nixon!”
And the great man was half-pushed, half-carried forward to the platform at the end of the room.
He smiled about to those on the right and left of him, and finally mounted the platform and deliberately removed overcoat and hat. A close observer might have seen that he was very nervous, but he held himself well in hand. The truth is, Nixon had not anticipated so large an outpouring nor such intense interest in the case and in consequence, found the task confronting him considerably more difficult than he had thought it would be.
He took out his handkerchief and passed it over his moist moustache, for he had stopped in the saloon on the first floor to take a single “bracer,” then he held up his hand impressively for silence. Nixon believed in doing a thing dramatically.