Craig made his
speech, and it was a fine bit of work. Beginning with a clear statement
of the object in view, he set in contrast the two kinds of leagues
proposed. One, a league of men who would take whisky in moderation; the
other, a league of men who were pledged to drink none themselves, and to
prevent in every honourable way others from drinking. There was no long
argument, but he spoke at white heat; and as he appealed to the men
to think, each not of himself alone, but of the others as well, the
yearning, born of his long months of desire and of toil, vibrated in
his voice and reached to the heart. Many men looked uncomfortable and
uncertain, and even the manager looked none too cheerful.
At this critical moment the crowd got a shock. Billy Breen shuffled
out to the front, and, in a voice shaking with nervousness and emotion,
began to speak, his large, coarse hands wandering tremulously about.
'Oi hain't no bloomin' temperance horator, and mayhap oi hain't no right
to speak 'ere, but oi got somethin' to saigh (say) and oi'm agoin' to
saigh it.
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