He did not change his attitude as Farnham entered.  He probably thought it could not be changed for the better.

“Good-morning, Mr. Quinlin.”

“Good-morning, sirr, to you.”  This salutation was uttered through teeth shut as tightly as the integrity of the cigar would permit.

“There is a great deal of talk of possible disturbance to-night, in case the strikes extend.  My own neighborhood, I am told, has been directly threatened.  I called to ask whether, in case of trouble, I could rely on any assistance from the city authorities, or whether we must all look out for ourselves.”

The mayor placed his thumbs in the arm-holes of his waistcoat, and threw his head back so that he could stare at Farnham from below his hat brim.  He then said, in a measured voice, as if addressing an assembly:  “Sirr!  I would have you to know that the working-men of Buffland are not thieves and robbers.  In this struggle with capital they have my profound sympathy.  I expect their conduct to be that of perr-fect gentlemen.  I, at least, will give no orders which may tend to array one class of citizens against another.  That is my answer, sirr; I hope it does not disappoint you.”

“Not in the least,” said Farnham, putting on his hat.  “It is precisely what I should have expected of you.”

“Thank you, sirr.  Call again, sirr.”

As Farnham disappeared, the chief magistrate of the city tilted his hat to one side, shut an eye with profoundly humorous significance, and said to the two or three loungers who had been enjoying the scene: 

“That is the sort of T-rail I am.  That young gentleman voted agin me, on the ground I wasn’t high-toned enough.”

Farnham walked rapidly to the office of the evening newspaper.  He found a man in the counting-room, catching flies and trimming their wings with a large pair of office shears.  He said, “Can you put an advertisement for me in your afternoon editions?”

The man laid down his shears, but held on to his fly, and looked at his watch.

“Have you got it ready?”

“No, but I will not be a minute about it.”

“Be lively!  You haven’t got but a minute.”

He picked up his scissors and resumed his surgery, while Farnham wrote his advertisement.  The man took it, and threw it into a tin box, blew a whistle, and the box disappeared through a hole in the ceiling.  A few minutes later the boys were crying the paper in the streets.  The advertisement was in these words: 

“Veterans, Attention!  All able-bodied veterans of the Army of the Potomac, and especially of the Third Army Corps, are requested to meet at seven this evening, at No. —­ Public Square.”

From the newspaper office Farnham went to a gunsmith’s.  The dealer was a German and a good sportsman, whom Farnham knew very well, having often shot with him in the marshes west of the city.  His name was Leopold Grosshammer.  There were two or three men in the place when Farnham entered.  He waited until they were gone, and then said: