"No," said Andrews, the head watchman, "there’s been nothing worse than a gang of hoodlums going up toward Nob Hill, and yelling like Comanches. But one of ’em makes me a bit suspicious, for as he passes, he says, ’That’s the house.’ I says to myself that there’s a chance he means this one, so I’ve cautioned the boys to be wide awake." "How many are on duty to-night?" "Four besides myself--Reardon and Selfridge, Hunt and Carr." "Well, get two more to stand watch with you to-morrow night, and till further orders." And with Andrews’ assurance that he knew two trustworthy men for the place, I ran down the steps and hastened up the street toward Nob Hill. As I reached the plateau, the meeting appeared to have resolved itself into small groups, that now scattered, now coalesced, and then scattered again, with shouts and cries of men. There were roars of anger followed by jeers, and shouted orders, and the elements of disorder circled hither and thither in aimless dispersion. Hoodlums elbowed me from the sidewalk. A policeman caught me by the arm and whirled me around with a curt order to "Git out of this now," and I recognized that the forces of law and order had replied to the challenge of the agitators. I pressed my way forward, by avoiding the scattered police, and at last reached the corner of Mason and California Streets by the Hopkins mansion. There was still a mob of a thousand or more, struggling about a shouting group, thinning from moment to moment, under the efforts of the police. I caught a glimpse of Parks, with mouth open and fist raised. Then he disappeared; a company of police appeared in the speaker’s place, and the mob melted away with marvelous rapidity. The police formed in company front, swept along the block, and then with a right-about-face returned, and broke up into twos and threes in chase of groups of disorder. As the upper block was nearly cleared, I caught sight of a policeman with whom I had a nodding acquaintance. "You’ve got a handful of trouble to-night," I said, as he paused for breath. "Throuble by the armful," he said indignantly. "That blatherskite Kearney ought to be in the tanks, with all that gang of fish-horn shouters that follows him. He’s making us more throuble than all the haythin divils between Goat Island and Washerwoman’s Bay, and that’s not sayin’ a little." "I didn’t get here in time to hear what he said." The policeman gave an indignant snort, and paused to order a trio of young men to "git home and out of here now."