“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.

“Well,” he said, “what do you ladies want with me?”

Their leader faced him, a small and yet commanding figure, with an imperious expression and sparkling eyes.

“You got a notice that from supper-time this bar must be shut!”

“I did, ma’am.  It was signed by you.  Now, so far as I know, the magistrates are the only people who can close my hotel.”

“That’s so!” shouted somebody; and there were confused murmurs and harsh laughter which suggested that some of the loungers were not quite sober.

“Fire them out!” cried another man.  “Guess this is why Nelson gets cold potatoes for his supper.  Ought to be at home mending socks or washing their men’s clothes.”

The lady turned sternly on the last speaker.

“Yes,” she said; “that’s the kind of idea you would hold.  It’s getting played out now.”

George was conscious of slight amusement.  The affair had its humorous side, and, though he was ready to interfere if the women were roughly handled, he did not think they ran any serious risk.  Beamish looked capable of dealing with the situation.

“You don’t require to butt in, boys,” he said.  “Leave me to talk to these ladies; I guess their intentions are good.”  He bowed to Mrs. Nelson.  “You can go on, ma’am.”

“I’ve only this to say—­you must close your bar right now!”

“Suppose I’m not willing?  It will mean a big loss to me.”

“That,” answered Mrs. Nelson firmly, “doesn’t count; the bigger the loss, the better.  You will stop the sale of drink until to-morrow, or take the consequences.”

Another woman, who looked careworn and haggard, and was shabbily dressed, stood forward.

“We and the children have borne enough!” she broke out.  “We have to save the cord-wood in the bitter cold; we have to send the kiddies out in old, thin clothes, while the money that would make home worth living in goes into your register.  Where are the boys—­our husbands and sons—­who once held steady jobs and did good work?” She raised an accusing hand, with despair in her pinched face.  “Oh!  I needn’t tell you—­they’re rebranding farmers’ calves or hiding from the police!  Don’t you know of one who walked to his death through the big trestle, dazed with liquor?  For these things the men who tempted them will have to answer!”