His voice quivered with exasperation; his heavy frame shook with rage; his eyes were injected, bloodshot; his face flamed vermilion, while his deep bass rumbled throughout the running comments of his auditors like the thunderous reverberation of diapason.
From all points of view, the story was discussed by those who listened to him, now in the heat of excitement, now calmly, judicially.

One verdict, however, prevailed.

It was voiced by Annixter: "You're stuck.
You can roar till you're black in the face, but you can't buck against the Railroad.

There's nothing to be done." "You can shoot the ruffian, you can shoot S.Behrman," clamoured one of the group.

"Yes, sir; by the Lord, you can shoot him." "Poor fool," commented Annixter, turning away.
Nothing to be done.