The murmur swelled into a heavy menacing roar. The
crowd, shaken by some invisible inner force, swayed to and fro. A
shrill yell rang out and at the signal scores of hoarse voices were
raised in shouts of mad defiance--threats and calls for action. As the
whirling waters of a maelstrom are drawn to the central point, the mob
was massed before the doors of the Mill.
The little squad of police was struggling forward. John Ward sprang to
his feet. The loyal union men about the car stood fast.
At the sound of the manager's voice the mob hesitated. In all that
maddened crowd there was not a soul in ignorance of John Ward's
comradeship with his fellow workmen. In spite of Jake Vodell's careful
teaching--in spite of his devilish skill in using McIver as an example
in his appeals and arguments inciting their hatred against all
employers as a class, they were checked in their madness by the
presence of Captain Charlie's friend.
But it was only for the moment. The members of Vodell's inner circle
were at work among them. John had spoken but a few sentences when he
was interrupted by voices from the crowd.
"Tell us where your old man got this Mill that he says is his?"
"Where did Adam get his castle on the hill?"
"We and our families live in shanties.
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