“Let’s go out and tell them it’s bed-time,” suggested Temple.

“Agreed!” said Farnham.  He turned to his men, and in a voice at first so low that it could not have been heard ten feet away, yet so clear that every syllable was caught by his soldiers, he gave the words of command.

“Company, attention!  Eight, forward.  Fours right.  Double time.  March!”

The last words rang out clear and loud, and startled the sullen crowd in the street.  There was a hurried, irresolute movement among them, which increased as the compact little corps dashed out of the shadow into the clear moonlight, and rushed with the rapid but measured pace of veterans across the lawn.  A few missiles were thrown, without effect.  One or two shots were heard, followed by a yell in the street—­ which showed that some rioter in his excitement had wounded one of his own comrades.  Farnham and his little band took only a moment to reach the gate, and the crowd recoiled as they burst through into the street.  At the first onslaught the rioters ran in both directions, leaving the street clear immediately in front of the gates.

The instant his company reached the middle of the avenue, Arthur, seeing that the greater number of the divided mob had gone to the left, shouted: 

“Fours left.  March—­guide right.”

The little phalanx wheeled instantly and made rapid play with their clubs, but only for a moment.  The crowd began to feel the mysterious power which discipline backed by law always exerts, and they ran at full speed up the street to the corner and there dispersed.  The formation of the veterans was not even broken.  They turned at Farnham’s order, faced to the rear, and advanced in double time upon the smaller crowd which still lingered a little way beyond the gate.

In this last group there was but one man who stood his ground and struck out for himself.  It was a tall young fellow with fair hair and beard, armed with a carpenter’s hammer, with which he maintained so formidable an attitude that, although two or three policemen were opposed to him, they were wary about closing in upon him.  Farnham, seeing that this was all there was left of the fight, ordered the men to fall back, and, approaching the recalcitrant, said sharply: 

“Drop that hammer, and surrender!  We are officers of the law, and if you resist any longer you’ll be hurt.”

“I don’t mind that.  I was waiting for you,” the man said, and made a quick and savage rush and blow at Farnham.  In all his campaigns, he had never before had so much use for his careful broadsword training as now.  With his policeman’s club against the workman’s hammer, he defended himself with such address, that in a few seconds, before his men could interfere, his adversary was disarmed and stretched on the sidewalk by a blow over the head.  He struggled to rise, but was seized by two men and held fast.

“Don’t hit him,” said Farnham.  “I think I have seen this man somewhere.”