Carrying a carefully wrapped bundle, he went forth into the streets on Sunday evening, and wandered into the Rookeries district.  A red-necked man, standing on a barrel, was making a speech to a big crowd gathered at one of the corners.  Dimly-heard, the word “Clarion” came to Veltman’s ears.

“What’s he saying?” he asked a neighbor.

“He’s roastin’ the ——­ ——­ ‘Clarion,’” replied the man.  “We ought to go up there an’ tear the buildin’ down.”

To Veltman it seemed quite natural that popular rage should be directed toward the object of his hatred.  He sat down weakly upon the curb and waited to see what would happen.

Another chance auditor of that speech did not wait.  McGuire Ellis stayed just long enough to scent danger, and hurried back to the office.

“Trouble brewing down in the Rookeries,” he told Hal.

“More than usual?”

“Different from the usual.  There’s a mob considering paying us a visit.”

“The new press!” exclaimed Hal.

“Just what I was thinking.  A rock or a bullet in its pretty little insides would cost money.”

“We’d better notify Police Headquarters.”

“I have.  They gave me the laugh.  Told me it was a pipe-dream.  They’re sore on us because of our attack on the department for dodging saloon law enforcement.”

“I don’t like this, Mac,” said Hal.  “What a fool I was to put the press in the most exposed place.”

“Fortify it.”

“With what?”

“The rolls.”

Print-paper comes from the pulp-mills in huge cylinders, seven feet long by four in diameter.  The highest-powered small arm could not send a bullet through the close-wrapped fabric.  Ellis’s plan offered perfect protection if there was enough material to build the fortification.  The entire pressroom force was at once set to work, and in half an hour the delicate and costly mechanism was protected behind an impenetrable barrier which shut it off from view except at the south end.  The supply of rolls had fallen a little short.

“Let ’em smash the window if they like,” said Ellis.  “Plate-glass insurance covers that.  I wish we had something for that corner.”

“With a couple of revolvers we could guard it from these windows,” said Hal.  “But where are we to get revolvers on a Sunday night?”

“Leave that to me,” said Ellis, and went out.

Hal, standing at the open second-story window, surveyed the strategic possibilities of the situation.  His outer office jutting out into a narrow L overlooked, from a broad window, the empty space of the street.  From the front he could just see the press, behind its plate-glass.  This was set back some ten feet from the sidewalk line proper, and marking the outer boundary stood a row of iron posts of old and dubious origin, formerly connected by chains.  Hal had a wish that they were still so joined.  They would have served, at least, as a hypothetical guard-line.