lan that I did not for a moment believe I would
carry out. I was shivering.

I climbed the steps. The wide vestibule was empty except for two men who
stopped a low-toned conversation to look at me. I wondered whether they
recognized me; that I might be recognized was an alarming possibility
which had not occurred to me.

"Who is speaking?" I asked.

"Mr. Krebs," answered the taller man of the two.

The hum of applause came from behind the swinging doors. I pushed them
open cautiously, passing suddenly out of the cold into the reeking,
heated atmosphere of a building packed with human beings. The space
behind the rear seats was filled with men standing, and those nearest
glanced around with annoyance at the interruption of my entrance. I made
my way along the wall, finally reaching a side aisle, whence I could get
sight of the platform and the speaker.

I heard his words distinctly, but at first lacked the faculty of
stringing them together, or rather of extracting their collective sense.
The phrases indeed were set ringing through my mind, I found myself
repeating them without any reference to their meaning; I had reached the
peculiar pitch of excitement that counterfeits abnormal calm, and all
sense of strangeness at being there in that meeting had passed away. I
began to wonder how I might warn Krebs, and presently decided to send
him a note when he should have finished speaking--but I couldn't make up
my mind whether to put my name to the note or not. Of course I needn't
have entered the hall at all: I might have sent in my note at the side
door.

I must have wished to see Krebs, to hear him speak; to observe, perhaps,
the effect on the audience. In spite of my inability to take in what
he was saying, I was able to regard him objectively,--objectively, in
a restricted sense. I noticed that he had grown even thinner; the flesh
had fallen away from under his cheek-bones, and there were sharp,
deep, almost perpendicular lines on either side of his mouth. He was
emaciated, that was the word. Once in a while he thrust his hand through
his dry, ashy hair which was of a tone with the paleness of his face.
Such was his only gesture.

He spoke quietly, leaning with one elbow against the side of his reading
stand. The occasional pulsations of applause were almost immediately
hushed, as though the people feared to lose even a word that should
fall from his dry lips. What was it he was talking about? I tried to
concentr