And up Denry stepped.

The thought in every mind was:  “What’s he going to do?  What’s he got up his sleeve—­this time?”

“Three cheers for Machin!” people chanted gaily.

“Order!” said the Mayor.

Denry faced the audience.  He was now accustomed to audiences.  He said: 

“If I’m not mistaken, one of the greatest modern footballers is a native of this town.”

And scores of voices yelled:  “Ay!  Callear!  Callear!  Greatest centre forward in England!”

“Yes,” said Denry.  “Callear is the man I mean.  Callear left the district, unfortunately for the district, at the age of nineteen for Liverpool.  And it was not till after he left that his astounding abilities were perceived.  It isn’t too much to say that he made the fortune of Liverpool City.  And I believe it is the fact that he scored more goals in three seasons than any other player has ever done in the League.  Then, York County, which was in a tight place last year, bought him from Liverpool for a high price, and, as all the world knows, Callear had his leg broken in the first match he played for his new club.  That just happened to be the ruin of the York Club, which is now quite suddenly in bankruptcy (which happily we are not), and which is disposing of its players.  Gentlemen, I say that Callear ought to come back to his native town.  He is fitter than ever he was, and his proper place is in his native town.”

Loud cheers.

“As captain and centre forward of the club of the Mother of the Five Towns, he would be an immense acquisition and attraction, and he would lead us to victory.”

Renewed cheers.

“And how,” demanded Councillor Barlow, jumping up angrily, “are we to get him back to his precious native town?  Councillor Machin admits that he is not an expert on football.  It will probably be news to him that Aston Villa have offered L700 to York for the transfer of Callear, and Blackburn Rovers have offered L750, and they’re fighting it out between ’em.  Any gentleman willing to put down L800 to buy Callear for Bursley?” he sneered.  “I don’t mind telling you that steam-engines and the King himself couldn’t get Callear into our club.”

“Quite finished?” Denry inquired, still standing.

Laughter, overtopped by Councillor Barlow’s snort as he sat down.

Denry lifted his voice.

“Mr Callear, will you be good enough to step forward and let us all have a look at you?”

The effect of these apparently simple words surpassed any effect previously obtained by the most complex flights of oratory in that hall.  A young, blushing, clumsy, long-limbed, small-bodied giant stumbled along the central aisle and climbed the steps to the platform, where Denry pointed him to a seat.  He was recognised by all the true votaries of the game.  And everybody said to everybody:  “By Gosh!  It’s him, right enough.  It’s Callear!” And a vast astonishment and expectation of good fortune filled the hall.  Applause burst forth, and though no one knew what the appearance of Callear signified, the applause continued and waxed.