The meeting became rough. A lot of people were yelping at once, but nobody talked down Einarson’s bellow. Everybody was standing up, either very red or very white in the face. Fists, fingers, and heads were shaking. The Minister of Finance’s brother—a slender, elegantly dressed man with a long, intelligent face—took off his nose glasses so savagely that they broke in half, screamed words at Einarson, spun on his heel, and walked to the door.
He pulled it open and stopped.
The hall was full of green uniforms. Soldiers leaned against the wall, sat on their heels, stood in little groups. They hadn’t guns—only bayonets in scabbards at their sides. The Minister of Finance’s brother stood very still at the door, looking at the soldiers.
A brown-whiskered, dark-skinned, big man, in coarse clothes and heavy boots, glared with red-rimmed eyes from the soldiers to Einarson, and took two heavy steps toward the Colonel. This was the country politician. Einarson blew out his lips and stepped forward to meet him. Those who were between them got out of the way.
Einarson roared and the countryman roared. Einarson made the most noise, but the countryman wouldn’t stop on that account.
Colonel Einarson said: “Ach!” and spat in the countryman’s face.
The countryman staggered back a step and one of his paws went under his brown coat. I stepped around Einarson and shoved the muzzle of my gun in the countryman’s ribs.
Einarson laughed, called two soldiers into the room. They took the countryman by the arms and led him out. Somebody closed the door. Everybody sat down. Einarson made another speech. Nobody interrupted him. The white-whiskered banker made another speech. The