There was a howl from the audience, and suddenly from the pit in front of the stage, whence ordinarily the orchestra dispensed sweet music, there leaped a line of blue-uniformed men, distributing themselves between the public and the speaker. At the same time down the centre aisle came a dozen soldiers marching, with guns in their hands and bayonets fixed. “This is an outrage!” shouted Comrade Smith. “Not another word!” commanded the police official; and two policemen who had followed him grabbed the orator by each arm and started to lead him off the stage. Comrade Gerrity leaped to the front of the platform. “I denounce this proceeding!” he shouted. “We are holding an orderly meeting here--” A policeman laid hold of him. “You are under arrest.” Then came Comrade Mabel Smith, sister of the editor of the Worker. “For shame! For shame!” she cried. And then, to a policeman, “No, I will not be silent! I protest in the name of free speech! I declare--” And when the policeman seized her by the arm, she continued to shout at the top of her lungs, driving the crowd to frenzy. There were disturbances all over the audience. Mrs. Gerrity, wife of the organizer, sprang up in her seat and began to protest. It happened that Jimmie Higgins was in the aisle not far from her, and his heart leaped with strange, half-forgotten emotions as he saw this trim little figure, with the jaunty hat and the turkey feather stuck on one side. Comrade Evelyn Baskerville, of Greenwich Village, she of the fluffy brown hair and the pert little dimples and the bold terrifying ideas, she who had so ploughed up the soul of Jimmie Higgins and almost broken up the Higgins' home--here she was, employing a new variety of coquetry, by which she compelled three soldiers with rifles and bayonets to devote their exclusive attention to her! And then Comrade Mary Allen, the Quaker lady, who believed in moral force applied through the ear-drums. She stood in the aisle with her armful of pamphlets and her red sash over her shoulder, proclaiming, “In the name of liberty and fair play I protest against this outrage! I will not see my country dragged into war without asserting my right of protest! I stand here, in what is supposed to be a Christian city; I speak in the name of the Prince of Peace--” and so on, quite a little speech, while several embarrassed young men in khaki were trying to find out how to hold their rifles and a shouting Quakeress at the same time. And then Comrade Schneider, the brewer. He had been up on the stage with the singers, and now got somehow to the front. “Haf we got no rights in America left?” he shouted. “Do we in this audience--” “Shut up, you Hun!” roared someone on the front of the crowd, and three policemen at once leaped for Comrade Schneider, and grabbed him by the collar, twisting so hard that the German's face, always purple when he was excited, took on a dark and deadly hue.