First among them was Gabriel the anarchist, who, coming to himself, had struggled into a sitting posture the better to nurse his wounds to which the surgeon who had administered first aid to Manning was now giving his attention. Manning himself, sitting on the curb, a little weak from shock and loss of blood, lifted his feeble voice in enthusiastic acclaim as he saw the riotous army routed from the plaza and driven down the street. Chick, seated at Manning’s side, joined his voice, pathetically tremulous, with the corporal’s outburst of rejoicing; and back of them a multitude of order-loving and law-abiding citizens shouted vociferously their delight at the victory won over the forces of disloyalty and disruption. Finally, Barriscale stood there, midway between the wounded rioter and the cheering Guardsman, a powerless and pathetic figure. He looked at the marching troops, with bayonets at the “charge,” pressing the mob to its overthrow. He turned his eyes to the big buildings and the spacious yards of his father’s great industrial plant, saved by the firm and wise action of Lieutenant Halpert McCormack from pillage and destruction. He gazed up at the swelling and rolling folds of the “Star-Spangled Banner,” still floating, thanks to the alert patriotism of the same bold officer, in glorious symbolism from the summit of its staff. Finally his eyes fell on Corporal Manning and General Chick still sitting in front of him on the curb. His face was a study. It no longer showed any mark of excitement or anger. The emotions pictured on it were far different; wonder, humiliation, disgust, following each other in quick succession; finally the indication of a transforming force back of his countenance, no less powerful and thorough than that which this very morning had changed the tenor of the life and thought of his comrade in arms, Halpert McCormack. He came a step nearer to Manning. “Dick,” he said, “I’ve been a fool.” “I think, myself,” replied the corporal with a wan smile, “that you’ve been rather indiscreet.” “Indiscreet! I’ve been a consummate idiot. Look at that fellow;” he half turned his head in the direction in which McCormack had disappeared; “getting all the honor and glory of this thing; and deserving it; and me--facing a court martial and the penitentiary--and deserving it.” He came over and sat down on the curb beside Chick, and dropped his head into his hands. “Him,” said Chick, gazing also with eyes filled with admiration after the disappearing troops, “he’ll be a major-general some day.” Barriscale started up again. “I’m under arrest,” he said; “I’ve got to go to the armory. Who’s going?” “I am,” replied Manning. “Me too,” added Chick. “Come along then, both of you.” The corporal rose uncertainly to his feet, picked up his own rifle, and started to pick up the one belonging to Barriscale with which McCormack had intrusted him. “Here,” said Chick, bravely, “give that one to me.”