We listened for a minute.  “Bear in mind, my friends, I am come among you; and I shall not desert you.  I give you my justice, I give you my freedom.  Your cause is my cause, world without end.  Amen.”

“Now wouldn’t that jar you?” remarked the “copper.”  “Holy Christ, if you’d hear some of the nuts we have to listen to on street-corners!  What do you suppose that guy thinks he can do, dressed up in Abraham’s nightshirt?”

Said Carpenter:  “The days of the exploiter are numbered.  The thrones of the mighty are tottering, and the earth shall belong to them that labor.  He that toils not, neither shall he eat, and they that grow fat upon the blood of the people—­they shall grow lean again.”

“Now what do you think o’ that?” demanded the guardian of authority.  “If that ain’t regular Bolsheviki talk, then I’m dopy.  I’ll bet the captain don’t stand much more of that.”

Fortunately the captain’s endurance was not put to the test.  The orator had reached the climax of his eloquence.  “The kingdom of righteousness is at hand.  The word will be spoken, the way will be made clear.  Meantime, my people, I bid you go your way in peace.  Let there be no more disturbance, to bring upon you the contempt of those who do not understand your troubles, nor share the heartbreak of the poor.  My people, take my peace with you!” He stretched out his arms in invocation, and there was a murmur of applause, and the crowd began slowly to disperse.

Which seemed to remind my friend the policeman that he had authority to exercise.  He began to poke his stick into the humped backs of poor Jewish tailors, and into the ample stomachs of fat Jewish housewives.  “Come on now, get along with you, and let somebody else have a bit o’ the street.”  I pushed my way forward, by virtue of my good clothes, and got through the press about Carpenter, and took him by the arm, saying, “Come on now, let’s see if we can’t get to the Labor Temple.”

XXV

There was a crowd following us, of course; and I sought to keep Carpenter busy in conversation, to indicate that the crowd was not wanted.  But before we had gone half a block I felt some one touch me on the arm, and heard a voice, saying, “I beg pardon, I’m a reporter for the ’Evening Blare’.”

Now, of course, I had known this must come; I had realized that I would be getting myself in for it, if I went to join Carpenter that morning.  I had planned to warn him, to explain to him what our newspapers are; but how could I have foreseen that he was going to get into a riot before breakfast, and bring out the police reserves and the police reporters?

“Excuse us,” I said, coldly.  “We have something urgent—­”

“I just want to get something of this gentleman’s speech—­”

“We are on our way to the Labor Temple.  If you will come there in a couple of hours, we will give you an interview.”