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"So they've got the Sentinel muzzled, have they and are going to get out an extra repudiating you," Mrs. Herrington repeated. There came a flash into her quick, dark eyes. "I want our candidate to stay right here rest up get his thoughts in order. There are a lot of things to be done. I'll be back in an hour, Mr. Remington. The rest of you come along you, too, Mrs. Remington." Mrs.
Regaining his balance, George started furiously back for the window; but Mrs. Herrington caught his arm. "Let me go!" he called, trying to shake her off. But she held on. "Don't you've said enough!" she cried, and pulled him toward the rear of the room. "Look!" Through the window was coming a heavier fire of impromptu grenades that rolled, spent, at their feet.
Herrington, the fighting blood of five generations of patriots roused in her, had reinstated the Voiceless Speech within the plate-glass window broken by the stones of that morning and was herself operating it; and, armed with banners, groups of women from the Woman's Club, the Municipal League and the Suffrage Society were marching up and down the street sidewalks.
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