I no longer had any impulse to interfere. In truth I was glad to see the policeman, considering that his worst might be better than the mob's best. About half the crowd followed us, but the singing died away, and that gave Comrade Abell his chance. He was walking directly behind the policeman, and suddenly he raised his voice, and all the rest of the way to the station-house he provided marching tunes: first the Internationale, and then the Reg Flag, and then the Marseillaise:     Ye sons of toil, awake to glory!
    Hark, hark! What myriads bids you rise!
    Your children, wives, and grand sires hoary—
    Behold their tears and hear their cries!
When we came to the station house, the policeman gave Moneta a shove and told him to get along; he had not done anything, and was denied the honor of being arrested. The officer pushed Carpenter through the door, and bade the rest of us keep out.
Said Abell: “I am an attorney.”
“The hell you are!” said the other. “I thought you were an opery singer.”
“I'm a practicing attorney,” said Abell, “and I represent the man you have arrested. I presume I have a right to enter.”
“And I am a prospective bondsman,” I stated, with sudden inspiration. “So let me in also.”
We entered, and the policeman led his prisoner to the sergeant at the desk. The latter asked the charge, and was told, “Disturbing the peace and blocking traffic.”
“Now, sergeant,” said I, “this is preposterous. All this prisoner did was to try to stop a mob from destroying prope............