A crowd rose magically from nowhere. People came running, shouting, jostling, demanding an explanation from their neighbors, who, in turn, demanded it of them.
"It's Frank Sheldon!" shouted someone, above the uproar.
"He's making hash of a Hun!" yelled another. "Come on and see the show, fellows—admission free!"
Through all this confusion, Bart, who had been on his way back to the office when attracted by the hubbub, pushed and elbowed his way through to the first line of observers.
"What's the row, Frank?" he yelled. "Stop kneeling on that fellow's neck and tell us about it. Look out!" as the fellow made a quick move as though to wrench himself free from Frank's grasp. "Don't let him put one over on you."
"Don't worry!" Frank's face was grim as he rose to his feet dragging the now thoroughly cowed German after him. "There's not a Hun in this country or the old that'll be able to get away from me once I get my hands on him—not after this day's work. Do you know what he did?" He gave his captive a ferocious shake and glared about at the still-increasing mob. "Do you know what this yellow dog did, right here in the country that's made him?"
"No, give it to us," shouted someone in the crowd, and the rest took it up impatiently.
"Yes, give it to us, Sheldon," they cried. "Get to the point!"
"Look at those flags," Frank cried in answer, pointing with quivering finger to the sullied emblems that lay in the dust where the German had left them. "Those are the flags of liberty, justice and right, and this dog," his fingers tightened in the man's collar till the craven cried out with the pain of it, "dragged them down, threw them in the dust, stamped upon them—stamped upon them, fellows! And our flag, Old Glory, is among them! Do you hear that? Old Glory is among them!"
An ominous growl went up from the crowd which had been listening breathlessly and with growing indignation to Frank's words, and now it surged threateningly forward.