"Go on; tell me the worst," said Philip, quietly, as the man paused.
"Well," the man went on in a low tone, "two others and me overheard a talk last night by the men who run the Star Saloon and den down by the Falls. They have a plan to waylay you, rob you and injure you, sir—and do it in such a way as to make it seem a common hold-up. They seemed to know about your habit of going around through the alleys and cross-streets of the tenements. We heard enough to make us sure they really and truly meant to deal foully by you the first good chance, and we thought best to put you on your guard. The rummies are down on you, Mr. Strong, you have been so outspoken against them; and your lecture in the hall last week has made them mad, I tell you. They hate you worse than poison, for that's the article they seem to sell and make a living out of."
Philip had the week before addressed a large meeting of working-men, and in the course of his speech he had called attention to the saloon as one of the greatest foes of the wage-earner.
"Is that all?" Philip asked.
"All, man alive!—isn't it enough? What more do you hanker after?"
"Of course I don't 'hanker after' being held up or attacked, but these men are mistaken if they think to frighten me."
"They mean more than frighten, Mr. Strong. They mean business."
"Why don't you have them arrested, then, for conspiracy? If you overheard their talk they are guilty and could be convicted."
"Not in Milton, Mr. Strong. Besides, there was no name mentioned. And the talk was scattering-like. They are shrewd devils. But we could tell they meant you plain enough—not to prove anything in court, though."
"And you came to warn me? That was kind of you, my brother!" Philip spoke with the winsome affection for men that made his hold on common people like the grappling vine with loving tendrils.