He was interrupted by a roar of disapproval. The crowd had recovered its wits. Resignation would not suit its purpose. Dismissal alone would suit that. A turmoil of voices arose.
As if to climb above their noise, Luke stood on tiptoe.
"Because this morning," he shouted, "I discovered——"
Old Venable banged his desk with the gavel
"Out of order!" he bawled.
Luke waved him down.
"That this League," he yelled, "was as corrupt as——"
They were all on their feet. Some were standing on their chairs. The men next to Luke tugged at his coat. Other men rushed at him crying threats. They shook their fists and cursed him.
Luke was as mad as any of them now. His hands struck out at the twisting figures about him. The tendons of his throat swelled like knots as he screamed:
"——as corrupt as its enemies! Corrupt! Corrupt! Corrupt! And I leave you to your own rottenness!"