He stayed a little while after that, but he read aloud, choosing a humorous story and laughing very hard at all the proper places.  In the end he brought a faint smile to Edith’s blistered lips, and a small lift to the cloud that hung over her now, day and night.

He made a speech that night, and into it he put all of his aching, anxious soul; Edith and Dan and Lily were behind it.  Akers and Doyle.  It was at a meeting in the hall over the city market, and the audience a new men’s non-partisan association.

“Sometimes,” he said, “I am asked what it is that we want, we men who are standing behind Hendricks as an independent candidate.”  He was supposed to bring Mr. Hendricks’ name in as often as possible.  “I answer that we want honest government, law and order, an end to this conviction that the country is owned by the unions and the capitalists, a fair deal for the plain people, which is you and I, my friends.  But I answer still further, we want one thing more, a greater thing, and that thing we shall have.  All through this great country to-night are groups of men hoping and planning for an incredible thing.  They are not great in numbers; they are, however, organized, competent, intelligent and deadly.  They plow the land with discord to sow the seeds of sedition.  And the thing they want is civil war.

“And against them, what?  The people like you and me; the men with homes they love; the men with little businesses they have fought and labored to secure; the clerks; the preachers; the doctors, the honest laborers, the God-fearing rich.  I tell you, we are the people, and it is time we knew our power.

“And this is the thing we want, we the people; the greater thing, the thing we shall have; that this government, this country which we love, which has three times been saved at such cost of blood, shall survive.”

It was after that speech that he met Pink Denslow for the first time.  A square, solidly built young man edged his way through the crowd, and shook hands with him.

“Name’s Denslow,” said Pink.  “Liked what you said.  Have you time to run over to my club with me and have a high-ball and a talk?”

“I’ve got all the rest of the night.”

“Right-o!” said Pink, who had brought back a phrase or two from the British.

It was not until they were in the car that Pink said: 

“I think you’re a friend of Miss Cardew’s, aren’t you?”

“I know Miss Cardew,” said Willy Cameron, guardedly.  And they were both rather silent for a time.

That night proved to be a significant one for them both, as it happened.  They struck up a curious sort of friendship, based on a humble admiration on Pink’s part, and with Willy Cameron on sheer hunger for the society of his kind.  He had been suffering a real mental starvation.  He had been constantly giving out and getting nothing in return.