breakfasted, more
and more rose from their hard beds to their harder lives. They moved
about restlessly, as if waiting for something. Some gathered in little
groups and listened to men who talked and shrieked far louder than was
necessary in order that their listeners should hear. Some came to the
edge of the street and cursed and vituperated the breakfasting regiment.
Some sat on the ground and ate food which they produced from their
pockets or from paper bundles. It was not very tempting-looking food.
Yet there were men in the crowd who looked longingly at it, and a few
scuffles occurred in attempts to get some. That crowd represented the
slag and scum of the boiling pot of nineteenth-century conditions. And
as the flotsam on a river always centres at its eddies, so these had
drifted, from the country, and from the slums, to the centre of the
whirlpool of American life. Here they were waiting. Waiting for what?
The future only would show. But each moment is a future, till it becomes
the present.

While the regiment still breakfasted it became conscious of a monotonous
sound, growing steadily in volume. Then came the tap of the drum, and
the regiment rose from a half-eaten meal, and lined up as if on parade.
Several of the members remarked crossly: "Why couldn't they wait ten
minutes?"

The next moment the head of another regiment swung from Chambers Street
into the square. It was greeted by hisses and groans from the denizens
of the park, but this lack of politeness was more than atoned for, by
the order: "Present arms," passed down the immovable line awaiting it.
After a return salute the commanding officers advanced and once more
saluted.

"In obedience to orders from headquarters, I have the honor to report my
regiment to you, Colonel Stirling, and await your orders," said the
officer of the "visiting" regiment, evidently trying not to laugh.

"Let your men break ranks, and breakfast, Major Rivington," said Peter.
In two minutes dandy and mick were mingled, exchanging experiences, as
they sliced meat off the same ham-bones and emptied the same cracker
boxes. What was more, each was respecting and liking the other. One
touch of danger is almost as efficacious as one touch of nature. It is
not the differences in men which make ill-feeling or want of sympathy,
it is differences in conditions.

In the mean time, Peter, Ray and Ogden had come together over their
grub, much as if it was a legal rather than an illeg