“Arms!” roared the crowd.  “We will have arms!”

“And what do you want with arms?” cried suddenly a shrill, piercing voice.  All eyes were turned toward the spot whence the voice proceeded, and there was seen the meagre figure of the linen-weaver, who had leaped upon a bench, and from his elevated position was looking down upon the people with the confident air of a conqueror.  But Pfannenstiel observed, to his dismay, that this time his appearance did not produce the desired effect; on the contrary, angry looks were cast upon him, and occasionally a threatening fist was raised against the divinely-inspired prophet.

“What do you want with arms?” cried he once more.  “Prayer is the only weapon becoming peaceful citizens.”

A burst of scornful laughter was the answer.  “Down with the linen-weaver!  Tear him to pieces!” roared the crowd, becoming infuriated.

“We mean to fight, and not to pray,” cried the valorous tailor.

“We want none of your poltroonery, you blackguard of a linen-weaver!”

“The tailor is right!  Pfannenstiel is a false prophet!” cried another voice.

“Hang him!”

“He wants to make cowards of us!”

The crowd raged still more furiously, and pressed toward the spot where Pfannenstiel stood.  Threatening hands were raised against him, and the situation of the prophet of peace began to be uncomfortable enough, when suddenly two new figures rose near him, and, by their unexpected appearance, restrained for a moment the wrath of the people.

* * * * *

CHAPTER X.

BE PRUDENT.

These two men, who so unexpectedly appeared at the side of the prophetic weaver, were none else than the two editors, Kretschmer and Krause, who came to support him in his exhortations in favor of peace, and to use their eloquence on the multitude assembled in front of the town-hall.

Mr. Krause opened:  “Listen to me, good citizens of Berlin; look at my gray hairs.  Age has the advantage, if not of wisdom, at least of experience.  Listen to my advice.  You who wish to fight for liberty, be at least prudent and moderate.”

“None of your moderation!” cried the tailor.  “We won’t be moderate!”

“But you will be reasonable and prudent, won’t you?” cried Mr. Kretschmer, with his clear, penetrating voice, raising himself on tiptoe, and casting his large, light-blue eyes over the crowd.  “You will be reasonable, certainly, and in reason you can tell me what you wish, and we can deliberate, and decide whether that which you wish, is reasonable.”

“We want arms.”

“But why do you want arms?”

“To fight the enemy,” cried the shoemaker, whom the crowd seemed tacitly to recognize as their mouthpiece.