ple away
from the rotten bosses. As if by magic they had emerged from the
underworld, as they always do in times of trouble, and he knew that the
excited East Side group was now flavored with mob-anarchy--that he had
to deal, not with men whose worst weapon was words, but with brutes who
lusted for broken heads. Some of the faces he knew--he had seen them
hanging about saloons. And he saw, too, in that swift scrutiny, that
many of the men had weapons; some had seized crowbars and sledges from a
near-by street tool-chest which was being used by laborers; others had
sticks; some had stones. An ominous sound came from the mob, something
winged with doom and death, like the rattling of a venomous snake, with
head raised to strike, ready fangs and glittering eyes. He could catch
in that paralyzing hum words tossed here and there: "Smash his presses!
Clean him out! Lynch him, lynch him! Kill--kill--kill!--"

A human beast had coiled at his door, myriad-headed, insane,
bloodthirsty, all-powerful--the mob, that terror of civilization, that
sudden reversion in mass to a state of savagery. It boded ill for Joe
Blaine. He had a bitter, cynical thought:

"So this is what comes of spreading the truth--of really trying to
help--of living out an ideal!"

A snowball hit the window before him, a soft crash and spread of drip,
and there rose from the mob a fiendish yell that seemed itself a power,
making the heart pound, dizzying the brain.

Joe turned. His mother was standing close to him, white as paper, but
her eyes flashing. She had not dared speak to Joe, knowing that this
fight was his and that he had passed out of her hands.

He spoke in a low, pulsing voice.

"Mother, I want you to stay in back!"

She looked at him, as if drinking her fill of his face.

"You're right, Joe," she whispered, and turned and went out.

Billy was standing at the stove, a frightened boy, but he gripped the
poker in his hand.

"Billy," said Joe, quietly, "run down and tell Rann to keep 'em out of
the press-room."

Billy edged to the door, opened it, and fled.

Joe was quite alone. He sat down at his desk and took up the telephone.

"Hello, Central!" his voice was monotonous in its lowness and tenseness.

"Hello!"

"Give me police headquarters--_quick_!"

Central seemed startled.

"Police--? Yes, right away! Hold on!--Here they are!"

"Hello! Police headquarters!" came a man's voice.

"This is Joe Blaine." Joe gave his address. "Th