A local Union official was addressing the meeting but saying nothing in particular, and simply filling in till the main speaker should arrive. McNish, quite uninterested in the platform, was quietly taking note of the audience, with many of whom he had made a slight acquaintance. As his eye travelled slowly from face to face it was suddenly arrested. There beside her father was Annette Perrotte, who greeted him with a bright nod and smile. They had long ago made up their tiff. Then McNish had another surprise. At the door of the hall appeared Captain Jack Maitland who, after coolly surveying the room, sauntered down the aisle and took a seat at his side. He nodded to McNish.
“Quite a crowd, McNish,” he said. “I hear the American Johnnie is quite a spouter so I came along to hear.”
McNish looked at him and silently nodded. He could not understand his presence at that kind of a meeting.
“You know I am a Union man now,” said Captain Jack, accurately reading his silence. “Joined a couple of months ago.”
But McNish kept his face gravely non-committal, wondering how it was that this important bit of news had not reached him. Then he remembered that he had not attended the last two monthly meetings of his Union, and also he knew that little gossip of the shops came his way. None the less, he was intensely interested in Maitland's appearance. He did Captain Jack the justice to acquit him of anything but the most honourable intentions, yet he could not make clear to his mind what end the son of his boss could serve by joining a Labour Union. He finally came to the conclusion that this was but another instance of an “Intellectual” studying the social and economic side of Industry from first-hand observation. It was a common enough thing in the Old Land. He was conscious of a little contempt for this dilettante sort of Labour Unionism, and he was further conscious of a feeling of impatience and embarrassment at Captain Jack's presence. He belonged to the enemy camp, and what right had he there? From looks cast in their direction it was plain that others were asking the same question. His thought received a sudden and unexpected exposition from the platform from no less a person than Mr. Wigglesworth himself to whom as one of the oldest officials in Unionised Labour in the town had been given the honour of introducing the distinguished visitor and delegate.
In flowing periods and with a reckless but wholly unauthorised employment of aspirates he “welcomed the (h)audience, (h)especially the ladies, and other citizens among 'oom 'e was delighted to (h)observe a representative of the (h)employing class 'oo was for the present 'e believed one of themselves.” To his annoyed embarrassment Captain Jack found himself the observed of many eyes, friendly and otherwise. “But 'e would assure Captain Maitland that although 'e might feel as if 'e 'ad no right to be 'ere—”
“'Ere! 'Ere!” came a piercing voice in unmistakable approval, galvanising the audience out of its apathy into instant emotional intensity.
“(H)I want most (h)emphatically to (h)assure Captain Maitland,” continued Mr. Wigglesworth, frowning heavily upon the interrupter, “that 'e is as welcome—”
“No! No!” cried the same Cockney voice, followed by a slight rumbling applause.
“I say 'e is,” shouted Mr. Wigglesworth, supported by hesitating applause.