A Socialist leaped on the steps beside him and, lifting his hat above his head, cried:
"Now again, men, three times three for a dauntless leader, a free man in the image of God, who dares to think and speak the truth!"
Three times the storm rolled over the sea of faces, and every hat was in the air.
Gordon lifted his big hand and the tumult hushed.
"My friends, I thank you for this mark of your fellowship. At the old Grand Opera House, next Sunday morning, the seats will be yours. You will get a comrade's welcome. I will have something to say to you that may be worth your while to hear."
The crowd, who had never seen or heard him, were impressed by his magnificent presence and his trumpet voice. They liked its clear ringing tones and its consciousness of power.
The unexpected demonstration restored his self-respect and blotted out the aching sense of failure.
His few words were greeted with tumultuous applause, renewed again and again. The air was charged with the electric thrill of their enthusiasm.
Gordon looked over the seething mass of excited men with exultant response.
He flushed and his big fists involuntarily closed. He had felt in his face the breath of the spirit that is driving the century before it.
