So a week slipped away. One morning Theodore was on his way from one
office to another when he heard the sound of drum and fife and saw a
body of the strikers marching up Washington street. Every boy within
sight or hearing at once turned in after the procession, and Theodore
followed with the rest.
It was about ten o'clock in the morning and the streets were full of
shoppers, many of them ladies who had been afraid to venture out
during the past week.
As if they had risen out of the ground, scores of rough-looking men
and street boys began to push and jostle the shoppers on the narrow
sidewalks until many of the frightened women took refuge in the
stores, and the shopkeepers, fearful of what might follow, began
hastily putting up their shutters and making ready to close their
stores, if necessary. These signs of apprehension gave great delight
to the rougher element in the streets, and they yelled and hooted
uproariously at the cautious shopkeepers, but they did not
stop. Steadily, swiftly they followed that body of men marching with
dark, determined faces to the sound of the fife and the drum.
"Where are they going?" Theo asked of a man at his side and the reply
was,
"To the car-house, I reckon. They're ripe for mischief now."
"What's stirred 'em up again--anything new?" the boy questioned.
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