Enos jumped to his feet, his dark face flushing angrily. His fists were doubled, and if Blasius had been a younger man, I should have witnessed the beginning of civil war in the camp of the agitators. But Enos held his arm before the gray hairs of the ex-Communard, and before the quarrel could be warmed by further words, there was an interruption that turned all thoughts from private disputes. A man burst through the swinging doors of the saloon and ran down to our table.
"Waldorf!" cried Parks.
I looked with interest at this leader of the Council of Nine--a tall, large-faced man, whose square jaw, spare cheeks, and bulging brows gave promise of force.
"It has come!" he cried.
"What?" cried Parks, springing to his feet. "The word from the brethren?"
"Just as good," said Waldorf, waving a newspaper excitedly before the group. "See this!" And as he unfolded the sheet we could see the printed announcement of an extra edition.
Parks seized the paper, and cried out the headlines:
"Riot and Bloodshed--Pittsburgh in Flames--Railroad Shops Wrecked by a Furious Mob--Troops Cooped up in the Roundhouse and Compelled to Surrender! Fighting in Baltimore. Mob Law Rules a Dozen Cities."
The men about the table looked at one another in silence, and the pallor of fear or excitement spread upon their faces.
"That's the signal," said Waldorf. "I wish we were better prepared."