“Looks like it,” said Tony. “Still he must be there, for the windows are bright. He must be lighting up now.”
The question was promptly settled, for, while we were speaking there was a sudden outburst of cheers, and the crowd surged into the building. The doors had evidently just been opened.
Pandemonium reigned within as we entered. The room was crowded to suffocation with a noisy, jostling mass of students. Every seat was full, and many of the boys were standing along the side walls. The din was almost deafening. Suddenly Tony Larcom’s presence was detected and immediately his name was on every one’s lips.
“There’s Tony. Take the chair, Tony. Pass him up to the platform, fellows.”
He was seized unceremoniously by a dozen pairs of hands, and half dragged, half carried, to the desk. There he stood a moment, laughing and kicking, until he was released, when he sobered down, took out his note book, and seated himself at a small desk in front of the platform, ready for business.
I made my way to the front row where Dick Palmer had reserved a place for me with considerable difficulty, by sitting in one seat and putting his feet in the next one.
At this moment Clinton Edwards, who had been asked by Tony to open the meeting, went upon the platform and summoned the crowd to order by hammering on the desk with a heavy ruler.
As all were intensely interested in the subject for which the meeting was called, the room soon became perfectly still.