The nearer platform
he perceived was empty to the right of him, and far across the space the
platform running in the opposite direction was coming crowded and passing
away bare. With incredible swiftness a vast crowd had gathered in the
central space before his eyes; a dense swaying mass of people, and the
shouts grew from a fitful crying to a voluminous incessant clamour: "The
Sleeper! The Sleeper!" and yells and cheers, a waving of garments and
cries of "Stop the Ways!" They were also crying another name strange to
Graham. It sounded like "Ostrog." The slower platforms were soon thick
with active people, running against the movement so as to keep themselves
opposite to him.
"Stop the Ways," they cried. Agile figures ran up from the centre to the
swift road nearest to him, were borne rapidly past him, shouting strange,
unintelligible things, and ran back obliquely to the central way. One
thing he distinguished: "It is indeed the Sleeper. It is indeed the
Sleeper," they testified.
For a space Graham stood motionless. Then he became vividly aware that
all this concerned him. He was pleased at his wonderful popularity, he
bowed, and, seeking a gesture of longer range, waved his arm. He was
astonished at the violence of uproar that this provoked. The tumult about
the descending stairway rose to furious violence. He became aware of
crowded balconies, of men sliding along ropes, of men in trapeze-like
seats hurling athwart the space.
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