“We do not know. Perhaps he is not human at all, but only a voice from another world.”
These words had their effect. There were some who at heart had meant to be honest. These put their receivers down softly and went into conference with their own hearts. Some made high resolves.
There were those, too, whose hearts were as stone, whose whole beings were filled with hate and greed. These slammed down the receivers and vowed revenge.
But what revenge, and how? How did one punish a voice?
“That fellow will get himself killed,” was Johnny’s comment. “And what a pity!”
There were honest folk who thought the words of this young prophet too harsh. There were those who hoped for a regeneration of their city. There were those who despaired. And there were all too many who asked for nothing so loudly as they did for the silencing of this mysterious Voice, which was, they averred, worse than an accusing conscience.
On this particular night the Voice went from these broad statements to specific cases. He told of many honest and sincere servants of the people who had endeavored to do their full duty; told also how they had been crowded back into places of little or no importance.
He spoke of police officers sent to the “sticks” because of their sincere attempts to enforce the law.
He came at last to the case of Drew Lane and Tom Howe. By this time one of the great newspapers of the city had taken up the fight. It had devoted two full columns to their defense. The Voice spoke of this, and then launched upon a recital of their many acts of danger and daring.
As Johnny listened his cheeks burned. Twice he clapped his hands and shouted.