Weisner put his demand again and Mulcahy made the affair a vociferous duet; other men were on their feet, shouting. But a top sergeant has a voice of his own and a manner to go with the voice: Lanigan yelled the chorus into silence.
While he was engaged in this undertaking a diversion at the door assisted him. The crowd parted. Men shouted, pleading, "Make way for the mayor!"
Morrison came up the aisle toward the platform, Blanchard at his heels.
There were cheers—plenty of them!
But sibilantly, steadily, ominously the derogatory hisses were threaded with the frank clamor of welcome; hisses whose sources were concealed.
The mayor ran up the steps of the platform and marched to Lanigan, doffing the silk hat and extending his hand cordially.
With his forearm the commander scrubbed off the sweat that was streaming down into his eyes. "It's been like hauling a seventy-five into action with mules, Your Honor! For the love o' Mike, shoot!"
The hisses continued along with the applause when Stewart faced the throng.
Lanigan leaped off the platform, not bothering with the stairs. "I'm going to wade through this grass," he yelped. "God pity the rattlesnake I locate!"
A shrill voice from somewhere dared to taunt, "Pipe the dude!"