“Shortly thereafter he was driving us with two small ferocious horses through the starlit night, over tumultuous roads, circling the city, in order that—without passing through it, or meeting its expectant pink militia or gend'armerie—we might get to some point on the bay where a boat could be obtained to the Violetta.
“'I see, I see,' he said. 'You'll have to get away. Get away. Before daybreak. Beteta. Know him well. Damn rascal. Right, Jamison! Right. Clever old boy, Jamison. Old boy. I was up City Hall. City Hall. Five o'clock. Saw Mayor. Saw despatch. No names though. Said Museum was robbed. Description. No names. How should I know? Too early, though. Beteta ought to have waited. Seven o'clock. Time enough. Damn fool. Make no great difference. Maybe not. Humph! Good enough case. Got you short. Eh? Few thousands. Blackmail. Wouldn't do. Eh? Keep the mummy? Lord, yes. Your game. Whoa! Here's Kirby's house. See if he's here.'
“Singular conversationalist, Mr. Dorcas. His discourse resembled the precipitous flow and fall of successive bricks. He pulled up before that house of the picket fence, visited by Sadler and myself the night before. But all was dark, not a window lit, no one within.
“We could see, however, the low buildings, tall stacks, and shining windows of the electric plant some distance away. Jamison departed for the plant, saying he would tell Kirby we were there, if Kirby were at the plant. Dorcas fastened his horses to the picket fence. We sat on the edge of the porch and held council.
“'Kirby in bad hole,' said Dorcas. 'Mayor crazy. No lights. Snuffed out the city. Cool, but risky. These boys, Lord! What nerve they have! Don' know. Might have worked, maybe. But that riot. Bad. Irish. Jimmie Hagan. Red hair. Proclamations. Hot. Printed too. Hagan had 'em. Mayor's tenderest corns stepped on. Insurrection. Sedition. Mob. File of soldiers. Dead wall. Bang! Dead Irish. Next, Kirby took the riot. Clubbed the Mayor with it. What! Collusion with rebellion. Humph! Got his bill. Yes. But the Mayor's got him. Never forgive. Never!'
“'Irish!' said Sadler. 'Proclamations nothing! Irish never got up an insurrection.'
“'Did too,' said Dorcas, diving into his coat. 'Here. Got a copy. See here!'
“'He must have run into Chepa,' said Sadler. 'Chepa used to have sand, and he's Kirby's foreman, now, ain't he? We heard so. Him and Irish used to be with each other like a man and his pug dog, and each of 'em thought the other was the pug dog. That's a proper international relation, ain't it? Wrath of God!' says Sadler. 'Look here! Chepa never did this by his lonesome.'
“He read aloud the proclamation:
“'Citizens, rise! The Mayor tyrant has arrested the electric lights! The Mayor, betrayer of the people, has put in jail Kirby, friend of the people! The Mayor thief has stolen the people's taxes to buy gilt furniture! The Mayor pig eats the people's taxes! Therefore is he fat and shaped like an egg which within is bad. Kirby, friend of the people, is desolate because he cannot buy more electricity, because the Mayor sneak will give him no money which the people gave him! Release Kirby or Down with the Mayor! Shall Portate be darkened forever? Citizens, are you slaves? Citizens, be not deceived! Citizens, rise!'