Dale held out his hand.
"Thought you weren't going to honour us here, Mr. Maraton," he remarked gruffly.
"I had not meant to," Maraton replied. "I came as one of the audience.
I wanted to hear, to understand if I could."
Dale stretched out his hand.
"This is Mr. Docker," he said, performing the introduction. "Mr.
Docker—Mr. Maraton."
"Come to support us, sir, I hope?" the former remarked.
"I came to listen," Maraton answered. "To tell you the truth, it's against my views, this, an individual strike."
They were calling to him now from the front. Mr. Docker's reply was inaudible.
"You'll have to say a few words," Dale insisted. "They'll never leave off until you do."
Maraton nodded and turned towards the audience. He stood looking down at them for a moment or two, without speech. Even after silence had been established he seemed to be at a loss as to exactly what to say. When at last he did speak, it was in an easy and conversational manner. There was no sign of the fire or the frenzy with which he had kindled the enthusiasms of the people of the United States.