The gloomy man affected deafness until this had been explained to him by those sitting near, on which he told them rather haughtily that he spoke when he liked, and not when he was called upon.
“Then we must throw the ’andkerchief to somebody else. Spanswick, you might set the ball a-rolling. Don’t be longer than you can ’elp.”
Erb watched. The impression that his rival made now would affect the later decision, and Erb could not help wishing that Spanswick might prove halting in utterance and clumsy of speech. Cheers greeted Spanswick; some of the men looked at Erb, as they slapped the table with the palms of their hands to see how he took it, and Erb remembered, just in time, to join in the compliment. He recovered his hopefulness as soon as Spanswick spoke, for he noted that his opponent started with great rapidity of utterance, speaking also overloudly—encouraging facts both. Spanswick was, of course, urging that they should form a separate society, but he had no arguments, only hurried expressions of his own opinion. Erb, with his eyes on a sheet of foolscap paper, noticed that the room relaxed its attention; the gloomy man had his watch out, and was clearly preparing to shout at the appropriate moment, “Time, time!” Spanswick halted and went over one sentence twice, word for word. Then he stopped altogether, and the silent room saw him endeavour to recall his fleeting memory, saw him take from the inside pocket of his coat the entire speech and laboriously find the place.
“Beg pardon,” cried the gloomy man, starting up, “but is a member entitled to read—”
Spanswick, with now and again an anxious glance at Erb, read the remainder of his speech in a shamed undertone. There was but little cheering when he finished; he was called up again because he had forgotten to move the resolution. Four men competed for the honour of seconding this.
“Now then!” said the Chairman, with relish, “let’s go on in a orderly manner. First thing is, any amendment? No amendment? Vurry well, then! Now, is there any further remarks? The subject hasn’t been, if I may say so, thor’ly threshed out yet, and if— Thank you! Friend Barnes will now address the meeting.”
Erb rose with the slight nervousness that he always felt in commencing a speech. He began slowly and quietly: the Great Eastern man saw his chance for an interruption, and shouted, “Let’s ’ear you,” but Erb took no notice. They were there, he said, to inaugurate a great work, a work to which some of them had given a considerable amount of care, and the scheme was so far advanced that he thought he could place a few details before them for consideration. There had been the grave question whether they should join the general society of London carmen, or whether they should form an independent society of their own.
“On a point of order, sir—” began the gloomy man.
“If there is one man,” said Erb, raising his voice, “in this room who is absolutely ignorant of order it is our Great Eastern friend at the other end of the room. A yelping little terrier that runs after a van doesn’t make the van go faster.”
The room, now very crowded with uniformed men, especially near the doorway, approved this, and the Great Eastern man first looked round for support from his own colleagues, and, obtaining none, began to take desperate notes as Erb went on.