d the car from the rear, forced
their way put on to the platform.

"Want us to see you through the crowd, Mr. Cargan?" the lieutenant
asked.

New hoots and cries ascended to the station rafters. "Who pays the
police?" "We do." "Who owns 'em?" "Cargan." Thus question and answer
were bandied back and forth. Again a voice demanded in strident tones
the ignominious tar and feathers.

Jim Cargan had not risen from the slums to be master of his town without
a keen sense of the theatric. He ordered the police back into the car.
"And stay there," he demanded. The lieutenant demurred. One look from
the mayor sent him scurrying. Mr. Cargan took from his pocket a big
cigar, and calmly lighted it.

"Some of them guys out there," he remarked to Magee, "belong to the
Sunday-school crowd. Pretty actions for them--pillars of the church
howling like beasts."

And still, like that of beasts, the mutter of the mob went on, now in an
undertone, now louder, and still that voice that first had plead for tar
and feathers plead still--for feathers and tar. And here a group
preferred the rope.

And toward them, with the bland smile of a child on his great face, his
cigar tilted at one angle, his derby at another, the mayor of Reuton
walked unflinchingly.

The roar became mad, defiant. But Cargan stepped forward boldly. Now he
reached the leaders of the mob. He pushed his way in among them, smiling
but determined. They closed in on him. A little man got firmly in his
path. He took the little man by the shoulders and stood him aside with
some friendly word. And now he was past ten rows or more of them on his
way through, and the crowd began to scurry away. They scampered like
ants, clawing at one another's backs to make a path.

And so finally, between two rows of them, the mayor of Reuton went his
way triumphantly. Somewhere, on the edge of the crowd, an admiring voice
spoke. "Hello, Jim!" The mayor waved his hand. The rumble of their
voices ceased at last. Jim Cargan was still master of the city.

"Say what you will," remarked Mr. Magee to the professor as they stood
together on the platform of the car, "there goes a man."

He did not wait to hear the professor's answer. For he saw the girl of
the Upper Asquewan station, standing on a baggage truck far to the left
of the mob, wave to him over their heads. Eagerly he fought his way to
her side. It was a hard fight, the crowd would not part for him as it
had parted for the man who ow