“Throw that man out,” commanded Finck.
“You cowards, you’re afraid to let me speak!”
“Oh, go and heave him out, Johannes,” called young Karlsen, leaning over the footlights.
But Johannes, the postman, was paralysed already by the unwonted tumult, and did not move. There were others in the hall, however, who seemed eager enough to respond to the invitation, seeing that Karlsen himself was to be responsible.
“You miserable traitor,” hissed Egholm, “give me back my tithes, give me my money, and I’ll go. But not before. Give me my four hundred kroner.”
“Turn him out, the wretch!”
“‘All is in the Father’s hand,
All things answer His command....’”
The Angel made a brave attempt to start the hymn, but the congregation appeared more interested in the conflict, and no one followed his lead.
“My money—give me my money, you thieves!”
“Pot calling the kettle black!” cried the Evangelist, with a sneer.