After
that you'd better go home to bed. That's good advice for all of you."
A shrill voice from the center of the massed throng cut in sharply. "Go
home like chickens and wait to have your necks wrung! Go home like sheep
and wait for the shearer and the butcher."
The mayor leaned forward and tried to locate the agitator. "Hasn't the
gentleman anything to say about goats? He's missing an excellent
opportunity!" Morrison showed the alert air of a hunter trying to flush
game in a covert.
The provoking query had its effect. "Yes, that's what you call us-all you
rulers call us the goats!"
A brandished fist marked the man's position in the mob.
"Ah, there you are, my friend! What else have you on your mind?"
"I'll tell you what you have on your face. You have the mark of an honest
man's hand there! I saw him plant that mark!"
"And what's the answer?" asked Stewart, pleasantly.
"You're a coward! You're not fit to advise real men what to do!"
"I'm afraid you have me sized up all too well!" There was something like
wistful apology in Morrison's smile.
Lanigan had forced his way close to the foot of the plinth where the mayor
was elevated. The commander's head was tipped back, his goggling eyes were
full of anguished rebuke, and his mouth was wide open.
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