But the mob was by no means unanimous. Men were daring to
voice threats against Morrison.
As it had availed before that evening, Morrison's imperturbable silence
secured quiet on the part of others.
"The opinion of the meeting seems to be divided," he said. He had
recovered his poise along with his breath. "But no matter! I shall not
adopt the advice of either side. I shall not let this fellow go until I
have finished my business with him. I shall not punch his face off him.
I'll not flatter him to that extent. A good American reserves his fists
for a man-fight with a real man." He shook the captive, holding him at
arm's-length. "Here's a young fool who has been throwing stones at
windows. Here's a fresh rowdy who has been sticking out his tongue at
authority. I know exactly what he needs!"
"He insulted the flag of this country! Turn him over to the police!"
somebody insisted, and a roar of indorsement hailed the demand.
"Citizens, that would be like giving a mongrel cur a court trial for
sheep-killing! This perverted infant simply needs--_dingbats!_" He shouted
the last word. He twisted the radical off his feet, stooped, and laid the
victim across a knee that was as solid as a tree-trunk, and with the flat
of a broad hand began to whale the culprit with all his might.
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