"Keep your hands off him!
Let him come!"
"They're going over him for a gat, Mister Mayor," called Lanigan. "I've
given 'em one lesson in that line this evening, already!"
The volunteers who were patting the disturber released him. The patting
had not been in the way of encouragement. "Nothing on him! Let him go!"
commanded one of the searchers.
The man who came forcing his way through the press, his clinched fists
waving over his head, was young, pallid, typically an academic devotee of
radicalism, a frenetic disciple, obsessed by _furor loquendi_ He was
calling to the mob, trying to rouse followers. "You have been standing
here, freezing in the night, damning tyrants, boasting what you would do.
Why don't you do it? Do you let a smirking ruler bluff all the courage of
real men out of you? He's only doing the bidding of those higher up. He
admits it! He's a tool, too! He's a fool, along with you, if he tries to
excuse tyranny. You have your chance, now, and all the provocation that
honest men need. The rulers tried to scare you with guns. But you have
called the bluff. Their hired soldiers have run away. Now is your time!
Take your government into your hands! Down with aristocrats! Smash 'em
like we smash their windows.
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