With obvious reluctance, Maraton moved a few steps to the front.

From the far corners of the ill-lit hall, white-faced men climbed on to the benches, peering through the cloud of smoke which hung almost like fog about the place.

They saluted him in all manner of ways--with cat-calls, hurrahs, stamping of feet, clapping of hands.

Maraton, who had climbed up on to the platform, was soon surrounded.
Dale held out his hand.
"Thought you weren't going to honour us here, Mr.Maraton," he remarked gruffly.
"I had not meant to," Maraton replied.

"I came as one of the audience.
I wanted to hear, to understand if I could." Dale stretched out his hand.
"This is Mr.Docker," he said, performing the introduction.