The Major must have seen his agitation, for he took his arm and led him back from the throng, saying: “Come! We can’t help it.”
“But—but—,” he protested, “the police ought to arrest him.”
“They do sometimes,” said the Major, “but it doesn’t do any good.”
They walked on, and the sounds of the shrill voice died away. “Tell me,” said Montague, in a low voice, “does that go on very often?”
“Around the corner from where I live,” said the other, “it goes on every Saturday night.”
“And do the people listen?” he asked.
“Sometimes they can’t keep the street clear,” was the reply.
And again they walked in silence. At last Montague asked, “What does it mean?”
The Major shrugged his shoulders. “Perhaps another civil war,” said he.