As he disappeared within the shop some of the younger members of the mob, chief among whom was Hardy Baker, continued to shower missiles, until they rattled against the building like hailstones; but this method of showing displeasure at the merchant's course of action was frowned down by the wiser portion of the gathering, and the boys were soon forced to desist. "It was well enough to prevent him from taking down the pole," some one cried; "but, when it comes to destroying property, we're going beyond our rights." "He will soon destroy that which cost so much labour to put up!" Hardy Baker shouted. "He has only to wait until we are obliged to go away." "That may be a longer time than he thinks for," Attucks, a mulatto who was well known to all, replied. "When it comes to such work as this we can afford to let everything else go. That pole will stand where it is a spell longer, my boy." "But not all are of your way of thinking. It cost much labour to place it there, and it should remain until Master Lillie understands he cannot play fast and loose with the people," and now Hardy, having forced his way into the centre of the throng, was almost bursting with the desire to explain that he had assisted in this good work. He was ready at the first opportunity to take upon himself all the credit of having devised the symbol and erected it; but there were none near who cared particularly to listen to the barber's apprentice, whose love for notoriety was his ruling passion. Besides, even though they had been desirous of hearing what he was so eager to say, no heed would have been given his words just then, for at that moment the door of the shop was opened again, and Richardson appeared, followed by his friend, David Wilmot. At first no one appeared to observe that the informer was armed, and then, as some one noted the fact that he carried a musket, the cry was raised: "Down with the informer! Down with the informer! Hang him to the pole! Bring out the tar and feathers! Give him an informer's uniform!" That portion of the mob farthest from the building, unable to see clearly what was going on, pressed forward, forcing those in front yet nearer the shop, and for an instant it appeared as if the entire assemblage was bent on making a prisoner of Richardson. Raising his musket quickly, and, without taking aim, he fired, and as the report rang out, even above the shrill cries of the infuriated multitude, it was as if the sharp crack of the weapon had alarmed him who discharged it, for, turning precipitately, driving Wilmot before him, the informer rushed into the building, closing the door behind him. Those in the immediate vicinity of the warning symbol, and nearest the informer, were unharmed, and, believing no injury had been done by the discharge of the musket, they set up a howl of derision, which was checked an instant later as a wailing cry came from the walk opposite. "Chris Snyder's killed! Chris Snyder's killed!"