A sudden rush of some extreme partisans of the popular cause, making a furious attempt to over-power the persistent taunts of a group of young farmers who stood above them on a raised portion of the pavement, drove a wedge of struggling humanity into the midst of the crowd who surrounded the irritable priest. Clavering was pushed, in spite of his efforts to extricate himself, nearer and nearer to his detested rival, and at last, in the most grotesque and annoying manner possible, he found himself driven point-blank into the stone-carver’s very arms. Luke smiled, with what seemed to the heated and flustered priest the last limit of deliberate impertinence.
But there was no help for it. Clavering was forced to accept his proffered hand, and return, with a measure of courtesy, his nonchalant greeting. Squeezed close together—for the crowd had concentrated itself now into an immoveable mass—the fortunate and the unfortunate lover of Gladys Romer listened, side by side, to the deafening shouts, which, first from one party and then from the other, heralded the appearance of the opposing candidates upon the balcony above.
“I really hardly know,” said Luke, in a loud whisper, “which side you are on. I suppose on the Conservative? These radicals are all Nonconformists, and only waiting for a chance of pulling the Church down.”
“Thank you,” retorted the priest raising his voice so as to contend against the hubbub about them. “I happen to be a radical myself. My own hope is that the Church will be pulled down. The Church I believe in cannot be touched. Its foundations are too deep.”
“Three cheers for Romer and the Empire!” roared a voice behind them.
“Wone and the People! Wone and the working-man!” vociferated another.
“You’ll be holding your confirmation soon, I understand,” murmured Luke in his companion’s ear, as a swaying movement in the crowd squeezed them even more closely together.
Hugh Clavering realized for the first time in his life what murderers feel the second before they strike their blow. He could have willingly planted his heel at that moment upon the stone-carver’s face. Surely the man was intentionally provoking him. He must know—he could not help knowing—the agitation in his nerves.
“Romer and Order! Romer and Sound Finance!” roared one portion of the mob.
“Wone and Liberty! Wone and Justice!” yelled the opposing section.