The strident vigour of the applause showed no diminution. And through
the thick, heavy rain of it could be heard the monotonous, insistent
detonations of one syllable:
"'Thor! 'Thor! 'Thor! 'Thor! 'Thor!"
And then another syllable was added:
"Speech! Speech! Speech! Speech!"
Mechanically Edward Henry lit a cigarette. He had no consciousness of
doing so.
"Where is Trent?" people were asking.
Carlo Trent appeared up a staircase at the back of the stage.
"You've got to go on," said Marrier. "Now, pull yourself together. The
Great Beast is calling for you. Say a few wahds."
Carlo Trent in his turn seized the hand of Edward Henry, and it
was for all the world as though he were seizing the hand of an
intellectual and poetic equal, and wrung it.
"Come now!" Mr. Marrier, beaming, admonished him, and then pushed.
"What must I say?" stammered Carlo.
"Whatever comes into your head."
"All right! I'll say something."
A man in a dirty white apron drew back the heavy mass of the curtain
about eighteen inches, and Carlo Trent stepping forward, the glare
of the footlights suddenly lit his white face. The applause, now
multiplied fivefold and become deafening, seemed to beat him back
against the curtain. His lips worked. He did not bow.
"Cam back, you fool!" whispered Marrier.
And Carlo Trent stepped back into safe shelter.
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