s of twenty-one and seventy-five the importance of attending this
meeting. Ebenezer January, the barber, and George Washington Smith, the
garbage-wagon driver, were the only two men in town whose presence was
not considered necessary. They, with their somewhat extensive families,
represented the total coloured population of Tinkletown.

When the impromptu gathering was called to order that night by Ezra
Pounder, the town clerk (acting in an unofficial capacity), there were
nearly two hundred and fifty men present, including Messrs. January and
Smith. Uncle Dad Simms, aged eighty-four, was present, occupying a front
seat. He confessed for the first time in his life that he was a little
"hard o' hearin'." This was a most gratifying triumph for his
fellow-citizens, who for a matter of twenty years had almost yelled
their lungs out advising him to get an ear-trumpet, only to have him
say: "What in thunder are you whisperin' about?"

The three clergymen of the town put in an appearance, and Elmer K.
Pratt, the photographer, brought his seven-months-old baby, explaining
that it was _his_ night to take care of her. He assured the gentlemen
present that they were at liberty to speak as freely and as loudly as
they pleased, so far as his daughter was concerned; if she got awake and
started to "yap," he'd spank the daylights out of her, and if that
didn't shut her up he'd take her home.

Anderson Crow, wearing all his decorations, occupied a chair between Mr.
Pounder and Harry Squires, the _Banner_ reporter. By actual count there
were seven badges ranging across his chest. Prominent among them were
the familiar emblems of the two detective associations to which he paid
annual dues. Besides these, one could have made out the star of the town
marshal, the shield of the fire chief, badges of the Grand Army of the
Republic, Sons of Veterans, Sons of the Revolution, and the Tinkletown
Battlefield Association.

Harry Squires, at the request of Mr. Crow, arose and stated the object
of the meeting.

"Gentlemen," he began, "the time has come for action. We have been
patient long enough. A small committee of citizens got together today,
and acting upon the suggestion of our distinguished Marshal, decided to
make a determined effort to restore peace and confidence into the home
of practically every gentleman in this community. It is a moral
certainty that all of us can't be the individual in Mr. Loop's woodpile,
but it is also more or