TWO STORIEIS
693
in its entirety. There following the band was the large black car.
So
he
had
come ! Yes, but how many paraffin-soaked sods blazing on
fork-prongs? Eight. (Nineteen the last time). How many cars? Six–
teen. (Thirty-one the last time). And even in the band, there were
gaps. And those who knew the usual power of the drummer's stroke
fancied that he was beating with half-zeal, as if the strength of his
arm had been sapped by the memory of the dead foxy lad.
But credit where credit was due-he
had
come! There were
those who had said that he would avoid the angry town. But fair play,
bonny play, it must be admitted that he had spunk! The watchers
shuffled their shoes in irresolution. What with the reverberations of
the band and the flashing of the torches and headlights, the foxy lad
wasn't having things all his own way. It was suddenly patent to the
townspeople that accurate leadership was an engaging thing-a some–
thing that their spirits hankered after. Their bitterness began to dis–
solve. They watched the procession curl the plaftorm, heard the
band cut sharply, saw the leader mount the platform steps, measured
the sharp rattle of partisan applause. They saw him smiling among
the men on the platform, shake hands here and there and finally take
his seat. Sitting, he was dwarfed. This physical smallness was a re–
current puzzle to them. It was a thing that came hard on them to
forgive him. Traditionally, their leaders had been tall, thunderous
and grandiose.
The chairman spoke: his speech was a failure. Being a local
man he was confronted with the task of over-compensating his secret
doubts. The vehemence with which he invested minor statements
seemed unnecessary. Also, he misjudged the correct distance of his
mouth from the microphone: the result was that his voice emerged
either in whale-ish unintelligible blahs or in skull-splitting crackles.
He irritated the folk at the walls. They were glad when he had fin–
ished. Another speaker followed: he was weak, meek and nondescript.
At length the leader stood up and advanced to the microphone. The
applause rang out sharply like gunfire: it posed the same problems as
gunfire. The ensuing silence was utter.
A
motor car swished down a
wet sidestreet and into the square: its headlights set fire to the paint–
work of the tall walls.
A
vicious handful of raindrops was pelted at
the platform. The leader looked up at the night sky but no more rain
followed. He began to speak.
