“Hear what?” asked Layton, impatiently.
“The cheerin', the shoutin'! That's for old Poll. It's the joy of our folk to see the old boy once more about. It would be well for some of our public men if they were half as popular in their own States as he is with the people down here. There it is again!”
Layton was not exactly in the fit humor to sympathize with this success, and neither the lecturer nor his audience engaged any large share of his good-will; he, therefore, merely muttered an impatient wish to get along, while he quickened his own pace in example.
“Well, I never heerd greater applause than that. They 're at it again!”
A wild burst of uproarious enthusiasm at the same moment burst forth and filled the air.
“There ain't no mockery there, stranger,” said Heron; “that ain't like the cheer the slaves in the Old World greet their kings with, while the police stands by to make a note of the men as has n't yelled loud enough.” This taunt was wrung from him by the insufferable apathy of Layton's manner; but even the bitterness of the sneer failed to excite retort.
“Is this our shortest road?” was all the reply he made.
“No; this will save us something,” said Heron, with the quickness of one inspired by a sudden thought; and at the same instant he turned into a narrow street on his left.
They walked briskly along for a few minutes without speaking, when, suddenly turning the angle of the way, they found themselves directly in front of the assembly-room, from whose three great doors the light streamed boldly out across the great square before it. The place seemed densely thronged, and even on the pillars outside persons were grouped, anxious at this cheap expedient to participate in the pleasure of the lecture. By this time all was hushed and quiet, and it was evident by the rapt attention of the audience that all were eagerly bent on listening to the words of the speaker.
“Why have we come this way?” asked Layton, peevishly.