Even his bent
shoulders seemed to suggest driving power rather than the weight of
years. He suddenly stretched out a hand in command as it were.
"Comrades, comrades," he said, "every man makes mistakes. Even if it was
a mistake for Ingolby to take away the offices from Manitou, he's done a
big thing for both cities by combining the three railways."
"Monopoly," growled a voice from the crowd. "Not monopoly," the old man
replied with a ring to his voice, which made it younger, fresher. "Not
monopoly, but better management of the railways, with more wages, more
money to spend on things to eat and drink and wear, more dollars in the
pocket of everybody that works in Manitou and Lebanon. Ingolby works,
he doesn't loaf."
"Oh, gosh all hell, he's a dynamo," shouted a voice from the crowd.
"He's a dynamo running the whole show-eh!"
The old man seemed to grow shorter, but as he thrust his shoulders
forward, it was like a machine gathering energy and power.
"I'll tell you, friends, what Ingolby is trying to do," he said in a low
voice vibrating with that force which belongs neither to age nor youth,
but is the permanent activity uniting all ages of a man.
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