Something in the atmosphere, as he looked about on the assemblage, filled him with apprehension. The suppressed, expectant quiet, the lack of laughter in so large a body of men, were not normal. When he turned his eyes toward the platform he found nothing to reassure him. The reception committee was the executive committee of the Affiliated Iron-Workers—the men who had been active in circulating persistent, annoying demands, inventing small causes of controversy, thrusting themselves forward at all times as the conservators of the rights of Labor. By such means they had contrived to bustle into positions of prominence; the majority of the workingmen had accepted them as leaders. Floyd felt sure that their welcome of his grandfather would be a sinister one; to his mind they represented a tribunal assembled to sit in judgment.
The door at the rear of the platform opened and Tustin came out, followed by Colonel Halket. The six members of the reception committee rose and stood while Tustin led Colonel Halket forward to the chair in the centre. There was no applause; the murmurous quiet of the room had subsided into a deep hush. Colonel Halket, after hesitating a moment, sat down; the six committeemen did the same. Tustin advanced to the edge of the platform.
"Friends," he said, "I introduce to you Colonel Halket."
There was still no applause, though Colonel Halket waited a moment before rising, and so gave every opportunity for a demonstration. Tustin after uttering his brief sentence stepped aside, and going straight to his chair sat down, apparently without noticing Colonel Halket's bow of acknowledgment.
Colonel Halket was disconcerted by the bluntness of the introduction and by the utter lack of applause. He bowed to his audience, but there was no responsive courtesy. Floyd's pulse quickened angrily; standing well to the front, he could see the changing expression on his grandfather's face, and he was indignant that these men
