What Foley had said was convincing; and, even at this instant, Tom himself could but admire the self-control, the air of provoked forbearance, with which he said it. The quiet, easy speech had given the crowd time to recover. As Foley sat down there was a sudden tumult of voices, and then loud cries of "Question!" "Question!"
"Order, Mr. Chairman! I demand the right to speak!" Tom cried.
"No one wants to hear you, and the question's called for."
Tom turned to the crowd. "It's for you to say whether you'll hear me or——"
"Out of order!" shouted Connelly.
"I've got facts, men! Facts! Will it hurt you to hear me? You can vote as you please, then!"
"Question!" went up a roar, and immediately after it a greater and increasing roar of "Keating!" "Keating!"
Connelly could but yield. He pounded for order, then nodded at Tom. "Well, go on."
Tom realized the theatricality of his position on the piano, but he also realized its advantage, and did not get down. He waited a moment to gain control of his mind, and his eyes moved over the rows and rows of faces that gleamed dully from sweat and excitement through the haze of smoke.
What he had to say first was pure conjecture, but he spoke with the convincing decision of the man who has guessed at nothing. "You've heard the other men speak. All I ask of you is to hear me out the same way. And I have something far more important to say than anything that's been said here to-night. I am going to tell you the story of the most scoundrelly trick that was ever played on a trade union. For the union has been sold out, and Buck Foley lies when he says it has not, and he knows he lies!"