A sullen roar rose from the audience; Le Vey lifted one hand:
“I told you how to argue,” he said in his emotionless voice. “Anybody can talk with their mouths.” And he turned on his heel and went back to his seat on the bench.
Sondheim stood up:
“Comrade Bromberg!” he shouted.
A small, shabby man arose from a bench and shambled forward. His hair grew so low that it left him practically no forehead. Whiskers blotted out the remainder of his features except two small and very bright eyes that snapped and sparkled, imbedded in the hairy ensemble.
“Comrades,” he growled, “it has come to a moment when the only law worth obeying is the law of force!–––”
“You bet!” remarked the police captain, genially, and, turning his back, he walked away up the aisle toward the rear of the hall, while all around him from the audience came a savage muttering.
Bromberg’s growling voice grew harsher and deeper 158 as he resumed: “I tell you that there is only one law left for proletariat and tyrant alike! It is the law of force!”
As the audience applauded fiercely, a man near them stood up and shouted for a hearing.
“Comrade Bromberg is right!” he cried, waving his arms excitedly. “There is only one real law in the world! The fit survive! The unfit die! The strong take what they desire! The weak perish. That is the law of life! That is the–––”