"Damn the preacher!" cried another. "He's a traitor and a blackleg!"
"You lie!" was the quick response; "and that proves it."
The man who had cursed the preacher doubled up and sank to the pavement under a blow from the other man's fist. It was the swift and natural result of the controversy, for the spirit of violence was abroad. In the lull that followed the punishment the rector again lifted his voice.
"Men, you are crazy. You are taking a fool's revenge. You are playing into the hands of your enemies. Stop this ungodly riot and go to your homes before blood is spilt!"
As if in defiance of his command, a brick went crashing through the office window at his side, and a cry, either of pain or fear, came from within the room. His heart grew hot with indignation.
"That was a coward's deed!" he shouted. "Shame on the one who did it!"
Already other bricks, torn from a foundation newly laid, were flying through the air. The sound of crashing glass was heard from every quarter. Policemen, back to back, were battling furiously with the mob.
"Pull the preacher down!" yelled a man from the street. "He's no business here!"
"Aye! Pull him down!" came the answering cry from a dozen throats. "He's the tool of capital, and an enemy to labor!"
But the minister was not dismayed. His voice rang out like the wrathful blare of a trumpet:
"I will speak, and you must listen. In God's name, men, are you mad? You'll have blood on your heads"
"Aye! and if this brick-bat goes straight you'll have blood on yours!"
The speaker, standing in the street, took rough aim and hurled his missile. It found its mark. The rector
