"Things are likely to open up right lively then on a moment's notice," remarked Dick.
"No telling when and what them bullshevicks is liable to pull off," offered Seymour.
By now the trio had arrived before the main gate of the yard. Old Bill Cavanaugh, the veteran watchman, recognized the two Brighton boys in an instant and gave them a hearty welcome. No need for a pass here, since no more popular boys had ever passed the gate than Dick and Jay. Fismes, too, got by with a wag of his tail.
"Hello, what's this," whistled Larry, as he directed attention across the yard to an open space fronting the administration building. Three or four score men, riggers, riveters, yard laborers of all kinds, were swaying to and fro around one who seemed buffeted about like a huge cork in a mountain brook. Loud cries, angry voices, mingled oaths and the strident tones of inflamed speakers rent the air. They seemed to be venting their anger on the lone figure in the midst of the turbulent group.
"Looks like a sure enough riot," surmised Dick.
The three youths came to a dead stop eager to get a line on what was going on and to make out if possible what it was all about.
"Let's move up closer and get an earful," suggested Dick. At once the trio headed across the yard toward the scene of trouble.
"Likely more of this Red stuff," Seymour was saying. Hardly had the words escaped his lips before the demonstration, indeed, became a regular riot. With one accord, it seemed, the crowd closed in upon the beleaguered one in their midst. Louder and louder grew their voices. Cries of "Punch the stiff!" and "Soak him!" could be heard at this distance.