“The man should have had a sufficient sense of decency,” he declared to a little group that surrounded him on the pavement, “to have prevented him from taking this company out. I don’t know what he intends to do,” he added; “but if his orders, or his refusal to give orders, show that he intends to let this mob have its way and work its will, I, for one, will revolt. If the first lieutenant plays traitor and the second lieutenant’s afraid to take hold, I’ll assume command of the company myself; I’ve got a right to under the Articles of War, and I’ll arrest McCormack and have him punished for treason and sedition. I tell you, boys, the honor of this company and of the whole National Guard is at stake this morning, and I’ll stop at nothing to save it.” And there were those who agreed with him. In order to place his men most effectively for service, McCormack had concentrated them on the northerly side of the plaza to the right of the entrance gates to the shops, and just in rear of the flagstaff which in the early morning was still bare of the colors. This position was still further strengthened by the fact that the troops covered the mouths of the three streets leading from the central city and converging at that point. Only the mouth of the street leading to the south was unguarded. This was the street up which the marchers would come, and across this street, a block away, the police had thrown a platoon which, it was hoped, would prevent the mob from reaching the mills or coming into contact with the militia. Lieutenant McCormack, having made his plans, and having given final instructions to his officers, sauntered across the corner of the plaza to the mouth of the main street leading into the city, and leaned against a lamp-post at the curb. He was not only deep in thought, his mind was in a very tumult of emotions. He knew that he had reached “the parting of the ways”; that he could no longer serve two masters, that he must either “hate the one and love the other,” or “hold to the one and despise the other.” The time had come when he must either give undivided allegiance to the flag of his country, or fling himself, body and soul, into the movement for the merging of the flags of all countries into the red flag of social radicalism. The sun, well above the crest of the hill range to the east, threw long shafts of yellow light down through the open spaces of the streets, and flooded the plaza with a carpet of shining gold. An apple tree in a near-by yard was a pink and white marvel of beauty and bloom. All around him birds were rioting in their spring-time songs. Hal had the soul of an artist, and in any other mood he would have breathed in the glory of the morning. But its splendor fell now upon unseeing eyes, and its music upon ears that did not hear. Lieutenant Brownell approached him and saluted. “I am informed,” he said, “that the custodian of the flag here is about to hoist it on the staff.” McCormack returned the salute.