The chief yelled at two waiting men in Legion caps: "Take a car. They're trying to take over one of the ferries at Sullivan Street. Break it up and keep patrolling the river. We've got to keep the boats in our hands." The men stolidly moved off to the car pool. Mickey Groff knew by then where he'd be useful. He went up to the chief's table and said, "I'd like to be deputized." The old man stared at him. "And go looting with a badge? Who're you, mister? I haven't seen you in town before." "Mickey Groff. From New York. I came in to see your burgess about taking over the old Swanscomb Mill for a factory of mine." "Groff. Henry talked about your offer. All right--Groff." The old man suddenly grinned. "Think I'll even trust you with a gun. Know how to use one?" "Yes. The army." The chief snorted. "Army! I hoped you might be a hunter. Well, maybe you'll do. Put up your hand." Groff did. In a rapid mumble the old man asked him whether he swore to uphold and defend the laws and constitution of the State of Pennsylvania, so help him God. Groff said he would, and the old man said he hereby appointed him a special deputy policeman of the Borough of Hebertown. "And," he added, "I sure hope this is legal because I've been doing it all day. Sign your name on this list. Clarence, give this man a thirty-eight. Have you got a handkerchief, mister? No? Clarence, give the man a clean handkerchief to tie around his arm." He clanked down an enormous revolver and five cartridges on the table. "Five?" Groff asked. "Army!" the chief snorted. "The chamber under the hammer is kept empty in civilian life, Groff. Let me see you load it." Fishing in his memory, Groff broke the revolver, set the safety, loaded it and closed it, being very careful where he pointed the thing. The chief said, "I guess I won't have to take it back after all. Now you stick around and wait. Talk to Murphy over there. He's been a deputy before this." Murphy was small and quiet. He volunteered that he was a plumber and that there'd be a lot of work for him after all this was over. He showed Groff how to carry his pistol in the waistband of his pants and said cautioningly, "Of course we ain't going to use them, you understand." Groff, who had his doubts about it, said he understood and watched while a battery-operated receiver-transmitter on another of the card tables came to life under the ministrations of a sixteen-year-old boy. The fire chief and the police chief both charged over; so after a while did a doctor from the outside when the word reached him. The three tried simultaneously to dictate messages to the bulldozed teen-ager. The fire chief wanted chemical trucks sent in, as many as could be rounded up. The police chief wanted National Guardsmen, at least a battalion. The doctor wanted to know where the hell the goddam army field hospital was. It was an interesting fight and Mickey Groff was sorry when a trouble call came in and he and Murphy missed the end of it.