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"'HE has, says Tompkins, with a wink, 'but the rest of us ain't. We pledged our votes to Dan Bassett, and we ain't the kind to go back on our word. Dan himself'll vote for Gabe; so'll Gaius and his reg'lar tribe. That'll make twelve, countin' Holway's own. "'Make seventeen, you mean, says I. 'Gaius and his crowd's fifteen and Dan's sixteen and Gabe's seven
None of these. Let him be a corporation of ideas or of dollars; let him be some complex, solid, crowded thing, would he do anything for himself, or for anybody else, or for everybody else, in a world too crowded to tell the truth without breaking something, or to find room for it, when it is told, without breaking something. This is the Crowd's World. What I have written I have written.
"Go on," he said, "go on if you can, young man. That's the North Street in front of you." The reason for the crowd's flight became obvious. A number of dragoons, dismounted, half-clothed, and apparently free from all discipline, came rushing down North Street. As they swept past the entrance of the side street Neal had a clear view of them over the heads of the crowd.
"The play's on the other side, the crowd's on the other side, all the fun's on the other side, and I am on this side with nothing more lively than you, you little shivering idiot, for company." Poppy St. John drew the spaniel's long silky ears through her fingers slowly.
She seemed to be sounding the depths of the listening crowd's sympathy, and to find it shallow and in shoals. Hammer was kind, with an unctuous, patronizing gentleness. He seemed to approach her with the feeling that she might say a great deal that would be damaging to the defendant if she had a mind to do it, but with gentle adroitness she could be managed to his advantage.
"There'll be one here soon, for the crowd's coming." "Fight! fight!" yelled three or four urchins, dashing up to the spot. Others came hurrying along from inspecting the store windows. "What's the row?" demanded a man. "Fair fight. Let him up. Give him a chance," growled a low-browed fellow, also approaching.
However, a sudden increase of the crowd's frenzy, a perfect rage of entreaties, gave him such a shock as to draw tears from his eyes.
"Are the officials of this county so completely under Sorenson and his crowd's thumbs that they won't move in a case like this?" Pollock questioned. "Yes." "Then we must act on our own initiative, as you say." "That's our only recourse. Giving whiskey isn't actually an illegal act and they're giving it away, not trying to sell it here without a government licence."
It need not take one very long to decide who the man is who determines the crowd's heart-beat.
The Crowd gets its heroes one at a time. Heroes are the Crowd's tools. Some are dredges, some are telescopes. The Crowd, by a kind of instinct an oversoul or undersoul of which it knows not until afterward, takes up each tool gropingly sometimes even against its will and against its conscience, uses it and drops it. Then it sees why, suddenly, it has used it. Then God hands it Another One.
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