It discloses that there is to be a discussion this night on the
subject of the world revolution. The disclosure is made in English,
Yiddish and Russian.
A thousand people have arrived. They are mostly west siders, with a
sprinkling of north and south side residents. There seem to be two types.
Shop workers and a type that classifies as the intelligentsia. The workers
sit calmly and smoke. The intelligentsia are nervous. Dark-eyed women,
bearded men, vivacious, exchanging greetings, cracking jokes.
The first speaker is a very bad orator. He is a working-man. An intensity
of manner holds the audience in lieu of phrases. He says nothing. Yet
every one listens. He says that workingmen have been slaves long enough.
That there is injustice in the world. That the light of freedom has
appeared on the horizon.
This, to the audience, is old stuff. Yet they watch the talker. He has
something they one and all treasured in their own hearts. A faith in
something. The workingmen in the audience have stopped smoking. They
listen with a faint skepticism in their eyes. The intelligentsia, however,
are warming up. For the moment old emotions are stirring in them.
Sincerity in others--the martyr spirit in others--is something which
thrills the insincerity of all intelligentsia.
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