are you going to git it across to the public in a
way to do yourself any good--without backing? How are you going to git
it across to the public?"

His last words, flung out with overmastering fury, brought George up
short, and he saw this. Doolittle's wrath had mounted to that pitch
which should never be reached by the resentment of a practical
politician; it had attained such force that it drove him on to taunt his
man. "How are you going to git it before the public?" he again demanded,
eyes agleam with triumphant rancor--"with us shutting you off and
hammering you on one side?--and them damned messy women across the
street hammering you from the other side? Oh, it's a grand chance you
have--one little old grand chance! Especially with those dear damned
females loving you like they do! Jest take a look at what the bunch over
there are doing to you!"

Doolittle followed his own taunting suggestion; and George, too, glanced
through his window across the crowded street into the shattered window
whence issued the Voiceless Speech. In that jagged frame in the raw
November air still stood Mrs. Harvey Herrington, turning the giant
leaves of her soundless oratory. The heckling request which then struck
George's eyes began: "_Will Candidate Remington answer_----"

George Remington read no more. His already tense figure suddenly
stiffened; he caught a sharp breath. Then, without a word to the two men
with him, he seized his hat and dashed from his office. The street was
even more a turbulent human sea, with violently twisting eddies, than
had appeared from George's windows. It seemed that every member of the
organizations whom Mrs. Herrington (and also Betty Sheridan, and later
E. Eliot, and, at the last, Genevieve) had brought into this fight, were
now downtown for the supreme effort. And it seemed that there were now
more of the so-called "better citizens." Certainly there were more of
Noonan's men, and these were still elbowing and jostling, and making
little mass rushes--yet otherwise holding themselves ominously in
control.

Into this milling assemblage George flung himself, so dominated by the
fiery urge within him that he did not hear Genevieve call to him from
Penny's car, which just then swung around the corner and came to a sharp
stop on the skirts of the crowd. George shouldered his way irresistibly
through this mass; the methods of his football days when he had been
famed as a line-plunging back instinctively r