"So that's why you recommended polygamy so enthusiastically," remarked Forsythe.
"That's why I recommended a two-year limit on keeping any of your wives, and why I made sure they were sent far away," admitted Allison. "I couldn't let you know. You have half a dozen sons and daughters now, Blan, and Lois is going to be a mother."
There was happiness in Forsythe's dark face as he looked out over the crowd. To see happiness on his face cut Truggles' soul like a knife.
And all this small talk was losing his crowd. The seething emotions he had nurtured so carefully were simmering down in harmless curiosity aroused by the small private drama that had unfolded before the people on the lawn.
"It's a conspiracy to mislead you!" he howled. "If no one else will throw the first stone, I will!"
It was a symbolic gesture, his scooping up a harmless clod and hurling it to explode against the porch as he marched on the man he hated. His back to the crowd, Truggles feared with a terrible fear that it was already too late. He was chancing making himself ridiculous.
But his heart leaped as the voices of a few hotheads arose in his support behind him, and he felt, rather than heard, some of the people surge forward. How many? He didn't know, but a few would be enough to start the rest again.
Allison was leaning over the porch rail, his face white, looking not at Truggles but past him.
"Donald!" he cried in a low voice that carried intensely across the grass. "Do as your mother says! I won't punish you. Use the Power!"