“Yes; run ’em into the switch!” yelled a whole chorus of hoarse voices. “Dump ’em over into the creek.”
Some idea of the strength of the mob may be gained from the fact that the car, heavily loaded as it was, began to move at once, and in a few minutes it was pushed upon a side-track, and brought to a stand-still on the edge of a steep bank. While the car was in motion Don, who had grown tired of being squeezed, sought to obtain an easier position by stepping into his seat and sitting down on the back of it. As he did so he nearly lost his balance; whereupon a burly striker, who had stepped into his place as soon as he vacated it, reached out his hand and caught him, in the most friendly manner.
“Thanks,” said Don, placing his hand on the striker’s broad shoulder and steadying himself until he was fairly settled on his perch. “Now, since you have showed yourself to be so accommodating, perhaps you wouldn’t mind telling me where those fellows on the outside are shoving us to, and what they intend to do with us.”
“They are going to throw you into the creek, probably.”
“I don’t see any sense in that,” observed Don. “What’s the meaning of this demonstration, anyhow?”
“It means bread!” said the man so firmly that Don thought it best to hold his peace.
There were few in the mob who seemed inclined to talk. They answered all the questions that were asked them, but gave their entire attention to what was going on in the forward end of the car. Their recognized leaders were there, talking with Professor Kellogg, and they were waiting to see how the conference was going to end. Those who spoke for the strikers seemed to be intelligent men, fully sensible of the fact that Professor Kellogg and his company had not come to the city to trample upon the rights of the workingman, and for a time the prospect for a peaceful settlement of the points under discussion looked very bright indeed. But there were some abusive and violent ones in the mob who could not be controlled, and they always spoke up just at the wrong time.
“Take the bayonets off the guns!” piped a forward youngster, who ought to have been at home and in bed. “That’s the way we did with the 61st.”
“I’ll tell you how to settle it,” said a shrill voice, that was plainly audible in spite of the tumult in the car and the continuous yells of the mob outside. “If they’re friendly toward us, as they say they are, let them give up their guns. We’ll see that nobody harms them.”
“Yes; that’s the way to settle it,” yelled the mob. “Let them give up their guns.”