“You go speak to them now, Hec,” Redtop urged.
“No, he can’t,” Billy objected. “He’s the principal speaker of the evening; he must be introduced properly.”
Behind them stood Bess Carter bursting with indignation. “You boys haven’t the spunk of a flea!” she taunted, and before they could reply she was standing on the bench gazing fearlessly but silently around on the mob. Her advent, so sudden and unheralded, touched the most quieting element of a crowd, its curiosity.
Tall, erect, her dark eyes flashing in the light of the torches, her beauty enhanced by her air of refinement and womanliness,—her power was felt by every little hoodlum there as keenly as by the older people.
“Gee! The Queen of Sheba’ll do the trick!” Billy ejaculated softly.
For what seemed to be minutes she stood, motionless except for her quick-glancing eyes, calmly waiting for perfect silence. It came at length, and she bowed gracefully and smiled as if she had expected nothing else.
“Ladies and gentlemen and fellow students: I did not mount this rostrum to make a speech, only to announce that the meeting is about to begin, and that we shall expect quiet. For really good Americans this is an unnecessary request. For any others who may possibly be here we have behind us real American policemen who will take charge of them.”
She bowed and in a moment was back among the anxious group again, while the audience clapped and roared, and the high-school boys shouted, “Hooray for the Queen!” “Bully for her!” and other elegant expressions that nevertheless held only admiration.
“Bess! What did you say that for? We have no police—”
“Not now, but we’re going to! I never saw such barbarians! I’m going to telephone for the police!” Before any could stop her she was flying across the street to find a telephone.