over--not just a few."

He paused; then began again: "Now, men, it's late. I've got so much to
say I don't want to begin now. I don't like to have Tom Van Dorn and Joe
Calvin divide time with me. I want the whole evening to myself. And," he
leaned over clicking his iron claw on the balcony railing while his jaw
showed the play of muscles in the light from below, "what's more I'm
going to have it, if it takes all summer. Now then," he cried: "The
Labor Council of the Wahoo Valley will hold its meeting to-morrow night
at seven-thirty sharp on Captain Morton's vacant lot just the other side
of the Hot Dog saloon. I'll talk to that meeting. I want you to come to
that meeting and hear what we have to say about what we are trying to
do."

A few men clapped their hands. Grant Adams turned back into the room and
in due course the crowd slowly dissolved. At ten o'clock he was standing
in the door of the Vanderbilt House looking at his watch, ready to turn
in for the night. Suddenly he remembered the Captain. He hurried around
to the Hot Dog, and there peering into the darkness of the vacant lot
saw the Captain with his gun on his shoulder pacing back and forth, a
silent, faithful sentry, unrelieved from duty.

When Grant had relieved him and told him that the trouble was over, the
little old man looked up with his snappy eyes and his dried, weazened
smile and said: "'Y gory, man--I'm glad you come. I was just a-thinking
I bet them girls of mine haven't cooked any potatoes to go with the meat
to make hash for breakfast--eh? and I'm strong for hash."

CHAPTER XXXVII

IN WHICH WE WITNESS A CEREMONY IN THE TEMPLE OF LOVE

George Brotherton took the Captain to the street car that night. They
rode face to face and all that the Captain had seen and more, outside
the Vanderbilt House, and all that George Brotherton had seen within its
portals, a street car load of Harvey people heard with much "'Y gorying"
and "Well--saying," as the car rattled through the fields and into
Market Street. Amiable satisfaction with the night's work beamed in the
moon-face of Mr. Brotherton and the Captain was drunk with martial
spirit. He shouldered his gun and marched down the full length of the
car and off, dragging Brotherton at his chariot wheels like a spoil of
battle.

"Come on, George," called the Captain as the audience in the car smiled.
"Young man, I need you to tell the girls that their pa ain't gone stark,
staring mad--eh? And