A murmur almost like applause went through the crowd.
“Men,” broke in Parker, “I cannot expect to have friends here, and you may all be enemies, but I have come back, knowing that woodsmen are on the side of grit and fair dealing. Listen to me!”
In college Parker had been class orator and a debater of power. Now he stood on a block of wood, and gazed upon a hundred bearded faces, on which the flickering firelight played eerily. In the hush he could hear the big winds wailing through the trees outside.
Ward stood in advance of the rest, his mighty fists clinched, his face quivering and puckering in his passion. As the young man began to speak, he attempted to bellow him into silence. But Connick strode forward, put his massive hands on Gideon's shoulders, and thrust him down upon a near-by seat. The big woodsman, his rebellion once started, seemed to exult in it.
“One of the by-laws of this ly-cee-um is that the meetin' sha'n't be disturbed!” he growled. “Colonel Gid Ward, ye will kindly listen to this speech for the good of the order or I'll gag ye! You've had a good many years to talk to us in and you've done it. Go ahead, young man! You've got the floor an' Dan Connick's in the chair.” He rolled his sleeves above his elbows and gazed truculently on the assemblage.
“For your brother's sake,” cried the young engineer, “I offer you one more chance to listen to reason, Colonel Gideon Ward! Do you take it?”
“No!” was the infuriated shout.
“Then listen to the story of a scoundrel!”
