"To tell you the truth, I came down here expecting to find you in custody, and to see what I could do toward getting you out. No, you needn’t thank me for it. Give your thanks to a young lady who is paying you the compliment of more worry than you are worth. I came to relieve her anxiety--not yours." Parks halted as we reached the corner of Merchant and Kearny Streets, and I saw the tense and angry lines soften on his face. "Hampden, I won’t pretend to misunderstand you. You’re right. I’m not worth her worry--nor is any man. I am grateful; but I tell you, as I tell her, that our private interests, hopes, affections, are nothing compared with the great cause of the people." "Well, for her sake, I hope you’ll keep out of jail." Parks took off his hat, and shook his mane with an angry nod. "A few more days," he cried, "and this cowardly set of time-servers will be begging my protection instead of threatening my liberty." "Are you ready to strike a blow?" I asked with sudden interest. "Never mind," he said darkly. "We await only the word from our brethren in the East. You can see the crisis approaching there. The railroad strikes have spread from the Atlantic to the Missouri. The frightened bloodsuckers of society are calling out the troops in the desperate hope of prolonging their hold on the labor and productive resources of the country. When the hour strikes--" Parks had gradually raised his voice in oratorical fervor, despite the nearness of the police headquarters, but at this moment he was interrupted by a tall, strong-faced man, who seized him by the shoulder and whispered something in his ear. "Hampden," said Parks, "I am called. Will you be kind enough to send word that I am safe? I shall see your friend to-morrow." And with a nod he plunged into the crowd that blocked Kearny Street and disappeared. At the drug store on the corner I scribbled a note that should set Miss Fillmore’s mind at rest, and with some difficulty found a messenger who would deliver it. Then with misgivings I shouldered my way through the crowd, crossed the Plaza, and entered Chinatown. The echoes of the Nob Hill meeting reverberated here as well as about the Old City Hall, but with a far different note. In place of the illuminated streets, the gay lanterns and the open doors of invitation of other days, there were barred entrances everywhere; the lights, where seen at all, flickered behind closed shutters, and the darkened buildings were surrounded with an atmosphere of sullen watchfulness. There was evident fear that the meeting on the hill was but the prelude to an attack on Chinatown, and Chinatown was prepared.