"Not a word!"
With yells, oaths, and catcalls the crowd offered comment on that declaration.
His demeanor as a statue of patience was more effective than remonstrance in quieting them.
"Any other gentlemen wish to offer more remarks? Get it all out of you!"
He utilized the hush. "Boys, I'm going to give you something better than words. Hearing can't always be trusted. But seeing is believing!"
He pulled a police whistle from his pocket and shrilled a signal.
For a time there was no answer or demonstration of any sort.
Then the tramp of marching feet was heard on the pavement of the square.
It was Marion's police force, issuing from some point of mobilization near at hand; it was the force in full strength, led by the chief; he was in dress-parade garb and the radiance of the square was reflected in imposing high-lights by his gold braid.
The crowd was shaken by eddies and was convulsed by quickly formed vortices. Morrison was studying that mob with his keen gaze, watching the movements as they sufficed to reveal an expression of emotions.