"And another thing, never look at the individual you intend next to
question. For both he and his opposite neighbor would then be prepared.
You must play very rapidly or it's no fun. And if any question or
discussion occurs, the Judge must decide."

"That will be right jolly, Laura. Do you think the folks will all
come?"

CORPORAL FRED.[1]

A Story of the Riots.

BY CAPTAIN CHARLES KING, U.S.A.

CHAPTER V.

For a mile after leaving its armory the regiment had marched through the
beautiful residence portion of the city, cheered and applauded to the
skies. Turning "column right," it had then threaded a narrow street,
shop-lined and less sympathetic, had tramped in cool disregard through
half a mile of railway property where, in groups of twenty or thirty,
strikers and sympathizers recoiled, but scowled and cursed them, yet
prudently refrained from further violence. Once in a while some street
arab let drive a stone, then dove under the nearest car, and scurried
away into hiding. Then came the lumber district, the swaying bridges
where they broke their cadenced stride, and crossed at route step. Then
in the gathering darkness the head of the column reached the outlying
wards. Square upon square, section on section of frame two-story houses,
the homes of citizens of only moderate means, and here, too, people
clustered on door-steps or ran to gather at street corners and murmur
God-speed and blessing, for less than a mile away now the western sky
was lighting up with the glare of conflagration, and the direful word
was going round that the mob was firing the freight-cars, and that,
despite the efforts of fearless and devoted firemen, the flames were
spreading to warehouses and factories along the line. Only a few minutes
after sundown the first summons had banged on the gongs of the engine
and truck houses of the west side. Then every fire-box for four miles
along the lines of the Great Western seemed to have been "pulled," and
in a wild confusion of alarms assistant chiefs were driving their
clanging buggies, followed by rushing hose-wagons and steamers, all over
the outlying wards, unreeling their hose only to have it slashed and
ruined by swarming rioters, and they themselves, the fire-fighters of
the people, men whose lives were devoted to duty, humanity, and mercy,
brutally clubbed and stoned by overpowering gangs of "toughs" bent on
mad riot and destruction. For hours from every direction the vicious,
t