“Bolty, have you two dozen repeating rifles?”

“Ja wohl!  Aber, Herr Gott, was machen Sie denn damit?”

“I don’t know why I shouldn’t tell you.  They think there may be a riot in town, and they tell me at the City Hall that everybody must look out for himself.  I am going to try to get up a little company of old soldiers for patrol duty.”

“All right, mine captain, and I will be the first freiwilliger.  But I don’t dink you wants rifles.  Revolvers and clubs—­like the pleecemen—­ dat’s de dicket.”

“Have you got them?”

“Oh, yes, and the belts thereto.  I got der gondract to furnish ’em to de city.”

“Then you will send them, wrapped up in bundles, to my office in the Square, and come yourself there at seven.”

“Freilich,” said Leopold, his white teeth glistening through his yellow beard at the prospect of service.

Farnham spent an hour or two visiting the proprietors of the large establishments affected by the strikes.  He found, as a rule, great annoyance and exasperation, but no panic.  Mr. Temple said, “The poor ------ fools!  I felt sorry for them.  They came up here to me this morning,—­their committee, they called it,—­and told me they hated it, but it was orders!  ‘Orders from where?’ I asked.  ’From the chiefs of sections,’ they said; and that was all I could get out of them.  Some of the best fellows in the works were on the committee.  They put ’em there on purpose.  The sneaks and lawyers hung back.”

“What will they do if the strike should last?” asked Farnham.

“They will be supported for awhile by the other mills.  Our men are the only ones that have struck so far.  They were told off to make the move, just as they march out a certain regiment to charge a battery.  If we give in, then another gang will strike.”

“Do you expect to give in?”

“Between us, we want nothing better than ten days’ rest.  We want to repair our furnaces, and we haven’t a ——­ thing to do.  What I told you this morning holds good.  There won’t be any riot.  The whole thing is solemn fooling, so far.”

The next man Farnham saw was in a far less placid frame of mind.  It was Jimmy Nelson, the largest grocer in the city.  He had a cargo of perishable groceries at the station, and the freight hands would not let them be delivered.  “I talked to the rascals,” he said.  “I asked them what they had against me; that they was injuring Trade!” a deity of which Mr. Nelson always spoke with profound respect.  “They laughed in my face, sir.  They said, ’That’s just our racket.  We want to squeeze you respectable merchants till you get mad and hang a railroad president or two!’ Yes, sir; they said that to me, and five thousand dollars of my stuff rotting in the depot.”

“Why don’t you go to the mayor?” asked Farnham, though he could not suppress a smile as he said it.

“Yes, I like that!” screamed Jimmy.  “You are laughing at me.  I suppose the whole town has heard of it.  Well, it’s a fact.  I went and asked that infernal scoundrel what he was going to do.  He said his function was to keep the peace, and there wasn’t a word in the statutes about North Carliny water-melons.  If I live till he gets out of office, I’ll lick him.”