“Hold on there! Hold on!” The words came in a shout, and springing into the aisle, Burke strode toward the platform, purple with rage. “What do you mean? What are you doing?
“Who is this man?” he demanded at the top of his lungs. “I demand to know! What does he mean by—?”
Swiftly hobbling down the aisle behind him, the old man attempted to pass. Roughly Burke pushed him back.
The minister stepped forward. “Mr. Burke, what do you mean?”
“What does this man here mean by—by—”
“Yes, by what, Mr. Burke?”
“By making reflections against me,” shouted Burke. “I demand an explanation! I—”
“But my dear sir, I am sure nothing was said—”
The old man dodged by, ran to the edge of the platform, and cried in a thin, high voice, “Do you mean my farm? My farm that Burke wants to buy?”
There was a momentary silence, during which here and there could be heard long in-drawn gasps. Then abruptly Alex tore the bandage from his eyes, swept off the hat and beard, and stepped to the front.