"Well," he said, turning to me again, "you needn’t lose slape for what you’ve missed. He told that crowd of howling hoodlums that these houses here was built with the loot squeezed out of their pockets, whin hiven knows that they wouldn’t do enough wurruk in tin thousand years to build wan side of that fince. Thin he says to ’em, ’What’s the matter wid yez is thot the railroad hires the haythins instead of puttin’ youse on the job’--as if those hoods would lave town and lift pick and shovel on the grade to save their sowls from the Ould Wan himself. An’ at last he says, ’I give the leprous corporation jist thirty days to fire their haythin shovelers, an’ if they don’t, I’ll lade yez up here to hang Stanford and Crocker out of their own windows, an’ burn their houses on top of thim.’ Thin some drunken hood yells, ’Hang ’em now!’ An’ with that we clubs ’em good and hard. Now we’ve got ’em on the run, an’ we’ve got ordhers to keep ’em on the run till they’ve had enough." "Was Kearney arrested?" I asked. "I think not, sor, but some of the gang with him was." "Is there any danger of an attack on the houses on Van Ness Avenue?" "It don’t look so, sor. The hoodlums don’t seem to be looking above wash-houses now, an’ most of thim are ready to hunt their holes. Well, good night to ye, sor. I must head off this gang here." And he ran up Mason Street flourishing his club in chase of a dozen venturesome boys. *CHAPTER XVII* *BIG SAM’S WARNING* With the deliquescence of the elements of disorder, I was relieved of the immediate fear of danger to Wharton Kendrick’s place, and my thoughts recurred to Parks. From his sudden disappearance at the rush of the police, I could scarce doubt that he was under arrest, and the remembrance of Mercy’s anxious face turned my steps toward the Old City Hall to learn the extent of his troubles, and the chances of securing his release. Kearny Street was thronged with groups of excited men, and I approached the old municipal building through a surging mob that was kept in motion by the police. "They’ve got Kearney in there!" cried a frenzied follower of the agitators, pointing to the Old City Hall. "Let’s take him out." "No, they haven’t!" called another. "They didn’t dare arrest him." A policeman brought down a club impartially on the head of the inciter of disorder and the friend of peace, with gruff orders to "Move on!" And through many difficulties I made my way to the door on Merchant Street that opened to the City Prison. The entrance was well guarded by several stout policemen, but my card secured admission. At the inner gate, however, I was halted for a heart-searching catechism as to my profession, standing, and present purposes; but at last the gate swung open, and I stood by the desk sergeant, and questioned him in regard to the arrested.