“Maraton!”

“Maraton!”

Maraton sat back, frowning.  The cries, however, became more insistent.  The occupants of the platform were leaning forward towards him.  The chairman rose In his feet and beckoned.  With obvious reluctance, Maraton moved a few steps to the front.  From the far corners of the ill-lit hall, white-faced men climbed on to the benches, peering through the cloud of smoke which hung almost like fog about the place.  They saluted him in all manner of ways—­with cat-calls, hurrahs, stamping of feet, clapping of hands.  Maraton, who had climbed up on to the platform, was soon surrounded.

Dale held out his hand.

“Thought you weren’t going to honour us here, Mr. Maraton,” he remarked gruffly.

“I had not meant to,” Maraton replied.  “I came as one of the audience.  I wanted to hear, to understand if I could.”

Dale stretched out his hand.

“This is Mr. Docker,” he said, performing the introduction.  “Mr. Docker—­Mr. Maraton.”

“Come to support us, sir, I hope?” the former remarked.

“I came to listen,” Maraton answered.  “To tell you the truth, it’s against my views, this, an individual strike.”

They were calling to him now from the front.  Mr. Docker’s reply was inaudible.

“You’ll have to say a few words,” Dale insisted.  “They’ll never leave off until you do.”

Maraton nodded and turned towards the audience.  He stood looking down at them for a moment or two, without speech.  Even after silence had been established he seemed to be at a loss as to exactly what to say.  When at last he did speak, it was in an easy and conversational manner.  There was no sign of the fire or the frenzy with which he had kindled the enthusiasms of the people of the United States.

“I find it rather hard to know exactly what to say to you,” he began.  “I am glad to be here and I have come to this country to work for you, if I may.  But, you know, I have views of my own, and it isn’t a very auspicious occasion for me to stand for the first time upon an English platform.  I came as one of the audience to-night and I have listened to all that has been said.  I don’t think that I am in favour of your strike.”

There was a murmur of wonder, mingled with discontent.

“Why not?” some one shouted from the back.

“Aye, why not?” a dozen voices echoed.

“I’ll try and tell you, if you like,” Maraton continued.  “I didn’t mean to say anything until after Manchester, but I’ll tell you roughly what my scheme is.  These individual strikes such as you’re planning are just like pinpricks on the hide of an elephant.  How many are there of you?  A thousand, say?  Well, you thousand may get a shilling or two a week more.  It won’t alter your condition of life.  It won’t do much for you, any way.  You will have spent your money, and in a year or two the masters will be taking it out of you some other way.  A strike such as you are proposing causes inconvenience—­no more.  I’d bigger things in my mind for you.”