Parks and I jumped to our feet at the first sound of the riot. "Here! this won’t do!" said Parks roughly, throwing me back in my chair. "Sit down! You’ll get killed without doing any good. I’ll settle this." And before I could remonstrate he was running down the room shouting wrathfully. As I got to my feet again, I saw him pulling and hauling at the mob, shouting lustily in the ears of the men as he threw them aside. "Come on!" I cried. "We must take a hand in this." And at my call Clark and the Englishman and the little German rose and followed in the wake of the young agitator. Parks worked his way into the crowd, shouting, appealing, using hands and tongue and body at once to carry his point. He was soon at the side of the policeman, who swayed, half raised his arms, and would have fallen had Parks’ arm not come to steady him. The shouting hoodlums paused at this reinforcement. Then the leader, with a curse, struck wildly at Parks’ face, and the cries of rage rose louder than before. At this moment, however, the tall, broad-shouldered Irishman, whom I had noticed at my entrance, deftly caught the hoodlum with a blow on the chin that sent him back into the midst of his band. "Hould on!" he shouted in a resonant voice. "There’s to be fair play here! Here’s two against the crowd to save a man’s life. If there’s any more men here let them come next us." "Here are four," I cried, and our reinforcement shouldered through the throng to the side of the two defenders. The tumult stilled for a little, and Parks seized the moment to burst into indignant speech. He had a high, keen, not unpleasant voice, though it thrilled now with anger and scorn, as he denounced the assault. "He’s the cop that got Paddy Rafferty sent up, I tell you," replied one of the hoodlums. "We said we’d fix him and we done it." "Well, you get home now or you’ll be fixed yourself, sonny," said Parks. "The cops will be on you in just three minutes by the watch. Git!" "Come on, youse!" said the leader sullenly, rubbing his jaw and giving a spiteful glance at the stout Irishman. "We’ll fix these tarriers some other time,"--and the band slunk out into the darkness. "That’s the kind of cattle that keep back the cause," cried Parks, turning to the crowd with keen eye for the opportunity for speech. And he went on with rude eloquence to expound the "rights of the people," which I judged from his language to be the right to work eight hours for about eight dollars a day and own nobody for master. "Well said for you, Mr. Parks!" said the Irishman. "I’m of your way of thinkin’. My name’s Kearney--Denis Kearney--maybe you’ve heard of me." "Maybe I have," said Parks. "I hope to hear more of you, Mr. Kearney. You came in the nick of time to-night." The policeman now sat in a chair with his face washed and his head bound up in a cloth, and with a sip of liquor was recovering strength and spirit.