They chanted it in chorus, crowding to the edge of the platform, and leaning almost over the speakers’ table, with their faces only a few feet from the ringing microphone. They kept it up, their cheers alternated with catcalls.
The tumult spread through the big hall like a contagion. The whole place was in an uproar. For a minute or two Hammond stood facing the clamor, a sardonic smile on his face. Then as the noise continued he leaned over the microphone and tried to go on with his speech in an effort to reach his radio audience at least.
But the young cheer leaders bent closer to the instrument and redoubled their efforts. The ether waves bore only an inarticulate roar.
Twice when the confusion subsided a little he tried it again, only to be thwarted by a renewal of the racket.
Here and there through the throng there were cries of protest from the fairer-minded. There were growing indications that the meeting might break up in a riot.
The toastmaster stood helpless, his eyes fixed on the boss, who regarded him with an indulgent grin.
At length Hammond gave it up altogether. With a bow and a smile, he turned and walked out of the hall.
At this gesture a partial hush fell on the crowd. There were cries of “Shame!” “Call him back!” “Give him a chance!”
Several fist fights were threatened among some of the more explosive of the faithful. The toastmaster began gesturing for silence.
Then Jim Neenan leaped to the center of the speakers’ table and gave an elaborate caricature of the presiding officer’s gestures. As soon as he could make himself heard, he shouted: