“We don't trust you!” And the crowd took up the cry: “We'll see for ourselves!”
“You can't go into this building,” declared Cartwright.
“I'm goin' to see my father!” shouted Tim. “I've got a right to see my father, ain't I?”
“You can see him in the morning. You can take him away, if you want to. We've no desire to keep him. But he's asleep now, and you can't disturb the others.”
“You weren't afraid to disturb them with your damned lawyers!” And there was a roar of approval—so loud that Cartwright's denial could hardly be heard.
“There have been no lawyers near him, I tell you.”
“It's a lie!” shouted Wauchope. “They been in there all day, and you know it. We mean to have them out.”
“Go on, Tim!” cried Andy, the Greek boy, pushing his way to the front. “Go on!” cried the others; and thus encouraged, Rafferty started up the steps.
“I mean to see my father!” As Cartwright caught him by the shoulder, he yelled, “Let me go, I say!”
It was evident that the superintendent was trying his best not to use violence; he was ordering his own followers back at the same time that he was holding the boy. But Tim's blood was up; he shoved forward, and the superintendent, either striking him or trying to ward off a blow, threw him backwards down the steps. There was an uproar of rage from the throng; they surged forward, and at the same time some of the men on the porch drew revolvers.