A sullen crowd of young men from the neighboring streets follow the ambulances, shouting execrations at the policemen who have made the arrests.
The hands on the clock in the cupola of the City Hall point to 2.15 A.M.
The news wagons are wedging their way through the sea of humanity. Morning papers are being sold by the ever vigilant newsboys. Still the people linger.
An event of graver nature than any that has preceded is what the crowd craves. The appetite of a man, or of a collection of men, is the same; if it is fed to repletion, it cannot resist the desire for an excess.
"Let's wait for one more bulletin," an engineer suggests to his fireman.
"All right; we can stay until 2.30. That will give us time to get to the building."
Before the fifteen minutes elapse all thoughts of tending in the engine room are driven from their minds.
The first bulletin announcing the tidings of the Wilkes-Barre uprising is posted by the Javelin at 2.35 o'clock. From this moment the crowds in City Hall increase. No one who can get within range of the blackboard thinks of leaving. There is a subtle fascination in waiting for the details of the momentous events.
At daybreak the evening edition of the day's papers containing news of the transcendent occurrences of the hour are on the street. In these papers the first intimation of the full scope of the blow that has been dealt the Magnates is given to the public. Link by link the chain of evidence that the accidents and murders are each part of a general and concerted movement is built.
"Martyrs or Murderers?" This is the interrogatory headline that appears in every paper.