A second glance, and he saw or,
perhaps, divined--purpose in those sinister presences. He looked
for the police--the detail of a dozen bluecoats always assigned
to large open-air meetings. Not a policeman was to be seen.
Victor pushed through the crowd on the platform, advanced to the
side of Colman. ``Just a minute, Tom,'' he said. ``I've got to
say a word--at once.''
Colman had fallen back; Victor Dorn was facing the crowd--HIS
crowd--the men and women who loved him. In the clear, friendly,
natural voice that marked him for the leader born, the honest
leader of an honest cause, he said:
``My friends, if there is an attempt to disturb this meeting,
remember what we of the League stand for. No violence. Draw
away from every disturber, and wait for the police to act. If
the police stop our meeting, let them--and be ready to go to
court and testify to the exact words of the speaker on which the
meeting was stopped. Remember, we must be more lawful than the
law itself!''
He was turning away. A cheer was rising--a belated cheer,
because his words had set them all to thinking and to observing.
From the left of the crowd, a dozen yards away from the platform,
came a stone heavily rather than swiftly flung, as from an
impeded hand. In full view of all it curved across the front of
the platform and struck Victor Dorn full in the side of the head.
He threw up his hands.
``Boys--remember!'' he shouted with a terrible energy-- then, he
staggered forward and fell from the platform into the crowd.
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