"But what are you doing here?" persisted Mr. Hearty.
"Oh!" responded the man with elaborate civility, "we come to play forfeits, wot jer think?"
At that moment from the room above the shop the band broke into full blast with "Shall We Gather at the River." The drummer made a grab at his sticks, but was late, and for the rest of the piece, was a beat behind in all his bangs.
Mr. Hearty looked helplessly about him. Another cheer from without caused him to walk to the door. Outside, the "Pull for the Shore, Sailor," faction was performing valiantly. Their blood was up, and they were determined that no one should gather at the river if they could prevent it.
In the distance several more bands were heard, and the pounding became terrific. All traffic had been stopped, and an inspector of police was pushing his way through the crowd in the direction of Mr. Hearty. Bindle joined the inspector, saluting him elaborately.
The inspector eyed Mr. Hearty with official disapproval.
"You must send these men away, sir," he said with decision.
"But—but," said Mr. Hearty, "I can't."
"But you must," said the inspector. "There will be a summons, of course," he added warningly.
"But—why?" protested Mr. Hearty.