They will of
a sudden begin to realise that they are a part of something vast and
mighty, a thing that moves, that is seeking new expression. They have
been told of the power of labour but now, you see, they will become
the power of labour."
Swept along by his own words and perhaps by something rhythmical in
the moving mass of men McGregor became feverishly anxious that the
dapper young man should understand. "Do you remember--when you were a
boy--some man who had been a soldier telling you that the men who
marched had to break step and go in a disorderly mob across a bridge
because their orderly stride would have shaken the bridge to pieces?"
A shiver ran over the body of the young man. In his off hours he was a
writer of plays and stories and his trained dramatic sense caught
quickly the import of McGregor's words. Into his mind came a scene on
a village street of his own place in Ohio. In fancy he saw the village
fife and drum corps marching past. His mind recalled the swing and the
cadence of the tune and again as when he was a boy his legs ached to
run out among the men and go marching away.
Filled with excitement he began also to talk. "I see," he cried; "you
think there is a thought in that, a big thought that men have not
understood?"
On the field the men, becoming bolder as they became less self-
conscious, came sweeping by, their bodies falling into a long swinging
stride.
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