Carrying a carefully wrapped bundle, he went forth into the streets on Sunday evening, and wandered into the Rookeries district. A red-necked man, standing on a barrel, was making a speech to a big crowd gathered at one of the corners. Dimly-heard, the word "Clarion" came to Veltman's ears.
"What's he saying?" he asked a neighbor.
"He's roastin' the ---- ---- 'Clarion,'" replied the man. "We ought to go up there an' tear the buildin' down."
To Veltman it seemed quite natural that popular rage should be directed toward the object of his hatred. He sat down weakly upon the curb and waited to see what would happen.
Another chance auditor of that speech did not wait. McGuire Ellis stayed just long enough to scent danger, and hurried back to the office.
"Trouble brewing down in the Rookeries," he told Hal.
"More than usual?"
"Different from the usual. There's a mob considering paying us a visit."
"The new press!" exclaimed Hal.
"Just what I was thinking. A rock or a bullet in its pretty little insides would cost money."