It was not the first time that a messenger of peace had been misunderstood and ill-treated. Arthur thought at the moment of other peacemakers, and he kept his temper.
He rose to his feet, and, with the blood streaming from his head, he again faced the people. “The man who threw that stone does not know me,” he said, “or he would not have thrown it. I am Arthur Knight——”
“Oh, yes! the man who threw the stone knew that,” shouted a voice.
“I am going to help my father in his business, and I promise you that I will try to see that justice is done, both to him and to you. If your grievances are real they shall be removed, as far as I am able to arrange things; and if your claims are reasonable and just they shall be met—if possible. I cannot tell how far you are right. I know you are not at all right in coming here to make a commotion, and calling names and throwing stones—all this is unmanly and unworthy of you—but you may think that you have some excuse, and I will hear all you have to say about it if you choose three men, and let them meet me on Monday evening at eight o’clock in the office. Will you?”
“Yes, sir!” The words came in a great shout. The effect of Arthur’s little speech had been marvellous. Where was its power? In the words or in the man? These questions were to be often asked in the future.
“And what are we to do on Monday morning?” some one asked.
“What are you to do? Why, go to work, to be sure, if you want your wages. Don’t strike, don’t lose time. You cannot afford that as well as we can, you know. Be in your places on Monday morning, and do your best for us, and I promise you that I will do my best for you.”
How was it that they all believed him? They certainly did. There was not a man who doubted.
“Three cheers for the young governor!” said one, and a hearty hurrah was raised.
“Thank you,” said Arthur, when the noise ceased, “I shall be glad now to see how much or how little I am hurt.”