lock of the way--bricks, cobblestones, an'
police-clubs to beat the band. They don't dast call out the troops. An'
they was afraid to shoot. Why, we tore holes through the police force,
an' the ambulances and patrol wagons worked over-time. But say, we got
the procession blocked at Fourteenth and Broadway, right under the
nose of the City Hall, rushed the rear end, cut out the horses of five
wagons, an' handed them college guys a few love-pats in passin'. All
that saved 'em from hospital was the police reserves. Just the same we
had 'em jammed an hour there. You oughta seen the street cars blocked,
too--Broadway, Fourteenth, San Pablo, as far as you could see."

"But what did Blanchard do?" Saxon called him back.

"He led the procession, an' he drove my team. All the teams was from my
stable. He rounded up a lot of them college fellows--fraternity guys,
they're called--yaps that live off their fathers' money. They come to
the stable in big tourin' cars an' drove out the wagons with half the
police of Oakland to help them. Say, it was sure some day. The
sky rained cobblestones. An' you oughta heard the clubs on our
heads--rat-tat-tat-tat, rat-tat-tat-tat! An' say, the chief of police,
in a police auto, sittin' up like God Almighty--just before we got to
Peralta street they was a block an' the police chargin', an' an old
woman, right from her front gate, lammed the chief of police full in the
face with a dead cat. Phew! You could hear it. 'Arrest that woman!' he
yells, with his handkerchief out. But the boys beat the cops to her an'
got her away. Some day? I guess yes. The receivin' hospital went outa
commission on the jump, an' the overflow was spilled into St. Mary's
Hospital, an' Fabiola, an' I don't know where else. Eight of our men was
pulled, an' a dozen of the Frisco teamsters that's come over to
help. They're holy terrors, them Frisco teamsters. It seemed half the
workingmen of Oakland was helpin' us, an' they must be an army of them
in jail. Our lawyers'll have to take their cases, too.

"But take it from me, it's the last we'll see of Roy Blanchard an'
yaps of his kidney buttin' into our affairs. I guess we showed 'em some
football. You know that brick buildin' they're puttin' up on Bay
street? That's where we loaded up first, an', say, you couldn't see the
wagon-seats for bricks when they started from the stables. Blanchard
drove the first wagon, an' he was knocked clean off the seat once, but
he stayed with