Gaffles grunted to him, pulling himself up into the high chair which had been placed so he could see between the hangings behind the stage and view the meeting’s progress. His first glance showed that the arrival on stage of the speakers had hardly disturbed the audience at all; half of them hadn’t even noticed. “If there’s damage?” said the proprietor below him, tilting his head back. “We’ll cover you,” said Gaffles, not looking down. “You’re promising?” the proprietor persisted. “Look, if you’re scared of damage costing you, why let a hall to a cult anyway? Where there’s a cult there’s apt to be trouble.” “Yes, but—” The proprietor chewed his stick feverishly. It seems to have been worse out there with the riots than I heard when I said okay to hold the meeting.” “The rioters have gone home with busted heads,” said Gaffles shortly. “People in there are your own customers, most of them. If they’re not drink-silly they’re drug-silly. Now stop distracting me.
