"Then what started it?"
"There was some street corner lecturer here the day before yisterday, tryin' to teach the people that children were the cause of poverty an' that the only way to prevent poverty was to get rid of the children, either by havin' fewer or by shippin' off the existin' surplus."
"It's silly for them to heed a man like that!"
"It's worse than silly, sorr," the policeman said. "But even then I don't believe there would have been trouble. But yisterday, some rich lady, plannin' to give the children a picnic this afternoon and a treat, told them they were all goin' out to the country and that they must tell their mothers they wouldn't be home until late."
"What about that?" asked the boy. "I should think they would be glad that the children should have some pleasure. From all I've seen recently of the way people live in this neighborhood, I don't believe the children have any too much good times."
"An' so they should be glad, sorr, but they won't see it that way. They know the children have been drilled for weeks an' weeks; they know a man on the street corner said the children ought to be shipped away; an' the next day they are told that the children are goin' to be taken into the country, an' they don't believe the children'll ever come back."
"Surely they can't be as silly as all that! And what do you suppose they want to do?"
"They don't know what they want," the policeman answered, "but it's a bad business when a crowd gathers. Look there now!"
Hamilton looked where the man was pointing. On the outskirts of the crowd the boy noted a number of half-grown toughs, hoodlums, and trouble-makers generally. The cries were increasing, and the boy could see that these men were doing all they could to stir up the rest of the crowd.
"Where they come from, I don't know," the police officer said, "but any time that there's a little trouble, they'll make it as big as they can."