the platform. I did not like the look in the eyes of these
new-comers, and among the crowd I saw several who were obviously
plain-clothes policemen.

The chairman whispered a word to the speaker, who continued
when the noise had temporarily died down. He kept off the army
and returned to the Government, and for a little sluiced out pure
anarchism. But he got his foot in it again, for he pointed to the
Sinn Feiners as examples of manly independence. At that,
pandemonium broke loose, and he never had another look in. There were
several fights going on in the hall between the public and
courageous supporters of the orator.

Then Gresson advanced to the edge of the platform in a vain
endeavour to retrieve the day. I must say he did it uncommonly
well. He was clearly a practised speaker, and for a moment his
appeal 'Now, boys, let's cool down a bit and talk sense,' had an
effect. But the mischief had been done, and the crowd was surging
round the lonely redoubt where we sat. Besides, I could see that for
all his clever talk the meeting did not like the look of him. He was
as mild as a turtle dove, but they wouldn't stand for it. A missile
hurtled past my nose, and I saw a rotten cabbage envelop the
baldish head of the ex-deportee. Someone reached out a long arm
and grabbed a chair, and with it took the legs from Gresson. Then
the lights suddenly went out, and we retreated in good order by the
platform door with a yelling crowd at our heels.

It was here that the plain-clothes men came in handy. They held
the door while the ex-deportee was smuggled out by some side
entrance. That class of lad would soon cease to exist but for the