“The manly art of self-defence,” said Farnham, smiling.

“I see, and I am glad to see it, too,” answered Temple, warmly.  “One of my men told me an hour ago that in the Tramps’ Lodging House, last night, it was the common talk that there would be a rush on the houses in this region to-night.  I went to the Mayor and tried to see him, but he was hiding, I think.  I went to the Chief of Police, and he was in a blue funk.  So I thought I would come up myself and see you.  I knew you could raise a few men among your servants over here, and I would bring half a dozen, and we could answer for a few tramps, anyhow.  But you are all right, and there is nothing to do but wait for them.”

“Yes, thank you!” said Farnham, “though I am a thousand times obliged to you for your good-will.  I won’t forget it in a hurry, old man.  Are you going home now?  I will walk a block or two with you.”

“No, I am not going home—­not by”—­[we draw the veil over Temple’s language at this point].  “I have come to spend the evening.  Have you any tools for me?”

“Nonsense, my dear fellow! there is not the least use of it.  There is not one chance in a million that there will be anything to do.”

The two men were walking toward the house.  Temple said:  “Don’t be too sure of it.  As I passed by the corner of the Square ten minutes ago, there was a fellow in front of Mouchem’s gin-mill, a longhaired, sallow-looking pill, who was making as ugly a speech to a crowd of ruffians as I ever heard.  One phrase was something like this:  ’Yes, my fellow-toilers’—­he looked like he had never worked a muscle in his life except his jaw-tackle,—­’the time has come.  The hour is at hand.  The people rule.  Tyranny is down.  Enter in and take possession of the spoilers’ gains.  Algonquin Avenue is heaped with riches wrung from the sweat of the poor.  Clean out the abodes of blood guiltiness.’  And you ought to have heard the ki-yi’s that followed.  That encouraged him, and he went on:  ‘Algonquin Avenue is a robbers’ cave, It’s very handsome, but it needs one thing more.’  ‘What’s that?’ some fellows yelled.  ’An aristocrat hung to every lamppost.’  This was very popular too, you can bet your boots.  On that I toddled off, so as to get you a chance to say your peccavy, anyhow.”

Walking and talking together, they had passed the house and come to the gate opening on the Avenue.

“You might shut these wide gates,” said Temple.

“I do not think they have been shut in ten years,” Farnham answered.  “Let’s try it.”

The effort was unsuccessful.  The heavy gates would not budge.  Suddenly a straggling, irregular cheer was heard from the direction of the Square.  “There!” said Temple, “my friend the orator has got off another good thing.”

But Farnham, who had stepped outside at the sound and gazed on the moon-lighted avenue, said, “There they come now!”

They both ran back to the house, Farnham blowing his watchman’s whistle.  “See here,” said Temple, “I must have some tools.  You have a club and revolver.  Give me the club,” which he took without more ceremony.  The men came up from the garden in an instant, and quickly fell in at Farnham’s word of command.  Masked by the shadows of the trees and the shrubbery, they were not discernible from the street.