Rough!  Tough! 
    We’re the stuff! 
    We want to fight and we can’t get enough!

And after that: 

    Hail!  Hail!  The gang’s all here! 
    We’re going to get the Kaiser!

The crowd joined in, and the words of the prophet were completely drowned out.  A moment later I heard a gruff voice behind me.  “Make way here!” There came a policeman, shoving through.  “What’s all this about?”

The fellow with the kerosene can spoke up:  “Here’s this damn Arnychist prophet been incitin’ the crowd and preachin’ sedition!  You better take him along, officer, and put him somewhere he’ll be safe, because me and my buddies won’t stand no more Bolsheviki rantin’.”

It seemed ludicrous when I looked back upon it; though at the moment I did not appreciate the funny side.  Here was a group of men engaged in raiding a book-store, beating up the proprietor and his clerks, and burning a thousand dollars worth of books and magazines on the public street; but the policeman did not see a bit of that, he had no idea that any such thing was happening!  All he saw was a prophet, in a white nightgown dripping with kerosene, engaged in denouncing war!  He took him firmly by the arm, saying, “Come along now!  I guess we’ve heard enough o’ this;” and he started to march Carpenter down the street.

“Take me too!” cried Moneta, the Mexican, beside himself with excitement; and the policeman grabbed him with the other hand, and the three set out to march.

XLVIII

I no longer had any impulse to interfere.  In truth I was glad to see the policeman, considering that his worst might be better than the mob’s best.  About half the crowd followed us, but the singing died away, and that gave Comrade Abell his chance.  He was walking directly behind the policeman, and suddenly he raised his voice, and all the rest of the way to the station-house he provided marching tunes:  first the Internationale, and then the Reg Flag, and then the Marseillaise: 

    Ye sons of toil, awake to glory! 
    Hark, hark!  What myriads bids you rise! 
    Your children, wives, and grand sires hoary—­
    Behold their tears and hear their cries!

When we came to the station house, the policeman gave Moneta a shove and told him to get along; he had not done anything, and was denied the honor of being arrested.  The officer pushed Carpenter through the door, and bade the rest of us keep out.

Said Abell:  “I am an attorney.”

“The hell you are!” said the other.  “I thought you were an opery singer.”

“I’m a practicing attorney,” said Abell, “and I represent the man you have arrested.  I presume I have a right to enter.”

“And I am a prospective bondsman,” I stated, with sudden inspiration.  “So let me in also.”

We entered, and the policeman led his prisoner to the sergeant at the desk.  The latter asked the charge, and was told, “Disturbing the peace and blocking traffic.”