“Mr. Adams,” said Violet, reading, “there’s some kind of a row in Sands Park. The cavalry is there and Ira Dooley says to tell you to clear out the Park or there will be trouble.”
“Get the boys on the phone, Violet, and tell them I said leave the Park, then, and go to the shaft houses in Magnus–but to march in silence–understand?”
Fenn picked up the transmitter again, “What’s that–what’s that–” he cried. Then he mumbled on, “He says the cops have ax-handles and that down by the smelters they are whacking our people right and left–Three in an ambulance?–The Slavs won’t take it? Cop badly hurt?” asked Fenn.
Grant Adams groaned, and put his head in his hand, and leaned on the desk. He rose up suddenly with a flaming face and said: “I’m going down there–I can stop it.”
He bolted from the room and rattled down the stairs. In 553a minute he came running up. “Violet–” he called to the woman who was busy at the telephone–“shut that man off and order a car for me quick–they’ve stolen my crank and cut every one of my tires. For God’s sake be quick–I must get down to those Slavs.”
In a moment Violet had shut off her interviewer, and was calling the South Harvey Garage. Henry Fenn, busy with his phone, looked up with a drawn face and cried:
“Grant–the Cossacks–the Cossacks are riding down those little Italians in Sands Park–chasing them like dogs from the paths–they say the cavalry is using whips!”
Grant stood with bowed head and arched shoulders listening. The muscles of his jaw contracted, and he snapped his teeth.
“Any one hurt?” he asked. Fenn, with the receiver to his ear went on, “The Dagoes are not fighting back–the cavalrymen are shooting in the air, but–the lines are broken–the scabs are marching to the mines through a line of soldiers–we’ve stopped about a third from the cars–they are forming at the upper end of the Park–our men, they–”
“Good-by,” shouted Grant, as he heard a motor car whirring in the distance.