Grant touched George's shoulder.

"This is certainly more than I figured on," he said; "but I guess
there's no use in my objecting. Now she's started, she'll go through
with it. They're making for the Sachem; we had better go along."

Shortly afterward, a gathering crowd blocked the street.

"Speech!" somebody cried; and there was ironical applause.

Mrs. Nelson raised her hand, and when the procession stopped, she
looked sternly at the men before her.

"No," she answered; "speeches are wasted on such folks; we're here to
act!"

She waved the quirt commandingly.

"Let us pass!"

She was obeyed. The women moved on; and George and Grant managed to
enter the hotel behind them before the throng closed in. The big
general-room was hot and its atmosphere almost intolerably foul; the
bar, which opened off it, was shadowy, and the crowded figures of
lounging men showed dimly through thick cigar smoke. The hum of their
voices died away and there was a curious silence as the women came in.
Edging forward, George saw Beamish leaning on his counter, looking
quietly self-possessed and very dapper in his white shirt and well-cut
clothes.