Hal looked his first sergeant squarely in the eyes. He was not angry, but there was a certain unusual note of decision in his voice as he replied. “I shall not permit this company,” he said, “so long as I am in command, to oppress or harass any person acting within his rights. You will take your post.” “But these hoodlums are not within their rights. They----” “You will take your post, sir!” The look in Lieutenant McCormack’s eyes, the ring in his voice, admonished Barriscale that the parley was at an end. He stepped back into his place at the right of the line, and came to “order arms” with a crash of the butt of his rifle on the pavement. McCormack’s language had convinced him that, so far as the Guardsmen were concerned, the rioters were to have their way and work their will. And the same conviction was not far removed from the breasts of many of the men in the ranks. The voice of the orator on the dray grew louder, his words tumbled in torrents from his lips, he was gesticulating like a man gone mad. His hearers, dominated by his fierce eloquence, applauded him to the echo. At the end of a fiery peroration there was a sudden movement of the crowd. Some one thrust up a pole with a red flag waving from its tip. Clubs were lifted into the air. From five hundred throats came a yell of defiance. Every hate-lined face was turned toward the soldiers still standing quietly at “order arms.” It was a critical moment. The orator flung his hands into the air and begged his followers to restrain their wrath until he should intercede for them with the capitalist-hired militia. He dismounted from the dray and, for a moment, was lost in the crowd. But, presently, with another leader at his side, he crossed the narrow, open space that separated the ranks of turbulence from the ranks of order and law. At the foot of the flagstaff the two men met Lieutenant McCormack and stopped and addressed him. He recognized them, then, for the first time, as the two leaders whom he had met in Donatello’s shop. The American was again the spokesman. “May I ask,” he said, “the purpose of bringing soldiers here?” Lieutenant McCormack, standing with folded arms, responded quietly but firmly: “To prevent disorder and violence.” “There will be no disorder and no violence,” replied Kranich, “unless an attempt is made to thwart my followers in their purpose.” “What is their purpose?” The question came as mildly as though it had to do with a summer shower instead of a prospective riot. “Our purpose,” was the response, “is to pass up the streets, the entrances to which you have covered with your troops, and spread our propaganda in the public places of the city, which is our right.” “I understand. Is that your entire programme?” The men in the ranks moved uneasily. It was apparent to them that their commanding officer was about to accede to the demand of the leaders of the mob.