The man hesitated, gazing at the crowd in front and back at his master. "Drive on!" yelled the latter, again.
And so the coachman lashed the horses, and forward they bounded like mad. Several of the crowd were knocked down; the rest scattered in terror; and away down the street sped the carriage, amid a rain of missiles and a din of curses.
XII
Mr. Robert van Rensselaer drove on to the depot, where stood his private car; as he sped away to the city he first took something to drink, and then sat smoking and meditating until the depot was reached. Here he heard street voices: "Extra! Extra!" and bought a paper. He stepped into his automobile, with the word "Home," and then settled back to read the news. There was the whole scene of the conference, with the embellishments of the usual kind, and the story of the strike resolutions and the beginning of rioting. There were also some savage editorials—it was a "yellow" journal. Mr. Robert van Rensselaer read them and smiled.
He arrived at his residence,—which, it should be added, was no longer a little apartment, but a palatial mansion just a few blocks above the paternal one. As he was still meditating about the strike, it was with a start that he came back to himself when the butler, who opened the door for him, remarked:—
"I beg pardon, sir. There's a lady in the parlor to see you."
Mr. van Rensselaer opened his eyes. "A lady?" he said.
"A lady, I presume, sir," said the butler.