"Mr.
Chairman!" it cried. "Look-a-here, Mr. Chairman! Mr. Chairman, I demand
to be heard! You gotta gimme my say, Mr. Chairman! I'm a-gunna have my
_say_! You look-a-here, Mr. Chairman!"
Shocked by such a breach of order, and by the unseemly violence of the
speaker, not only the chairman but everyone else looked there. A short,
strong figure was on its feet, gesticulating fiercely; and the head
belonging to it was a large one with too much curly black hair, a flat,
swarthy face, shiny and not immaculately shaven; there was an impression
of ill-chosen clothes, too much fat red lip, too much tooth, too much
eyeball. Fred Mitchell, half-sorrowing, yet struggling to conceal tears
of choked mirth over his roommate's late exhibition, recognized this
violent interrupter as one Linski, a fellow freshman who sat next to him
in one of his classes. "What's _that_ cuss up to?" Fred wondered, and so
did others. Linski showed them.
He pressed forward, shoving himself through the two rows in front of him
till he emerged upon the green carpet of the open space, and as he came,
he was cyclonic with words.
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