utpourings of the
Anarchists, in a combination of indignation, amazement and fear, "I
never dreamed there could be such fearful wretches!" she said. There was
one man--a fellow named Podds--whom the paper reported as shrieking in
Union Square to a select audience:

"Rise! Wipe from the face of the earth the money power! Kill!
Kill! Only by blood atonement can we lead the way to better
things. To a universal brotherhood of love. Down with rich men!
Down with their paid hirelings, the troops! Blow them in pieces!"

"Oh!" cried Leonore shuddering. "It's fearful. I wish some one would
blow you in pieces!" Thereby was she proving herself not unlike Podds.
All humanity have something of the Anarchist in them. Then Leonore
turned to the mastiff and told him some things. Of how bad the strikers
were, and how terrible were the Anarchists. "Yes, dear," she said, "I
wish we had them here, and then you could treat them as they deserve,
wouldn't you, Betise? I'm so glad he has my luck-piece!"

A moment later her father and another man came into the hall from the
street, compelling Leonore to assume a more proper attitude.

"Hello, Dot!" said Watts. "Still up? Vaughan and I are going to have a
game of billiards. Won't you score for us?"

"Yes," said Leonore.

"Bad news from New York, isn't it?" said Vaughan, nonchalantly, as he
stood back after his first play.

Leonore saw her father make a grimace at Vaughan, which Vaughan did not
see. She said, "What?"

"I missed," said Watts. "Your turn, Will."

"Tell me the news before you shoot?" said Leonore.

"The collision of the strikers and the troops."

"Was any one hurt?" asked Leonore, calmly scoring two to her father's
credit.

"Yes. Eleven soldiers and twenty-two strikers."

"What regiment was it?" asked Leonore.

"Colonel Stirling's," said Vaughan, making a brilliant _masse_.
"Fortunately it's a Mick regiment, so we needn't worry over who was
killed."

Leonore thought to herself: "You are as bad every bit as Podds!" Aloud
she said, "Did it say who were killed?"

"No. The dispatch only said fourteen dead."

"That was a beautiful shot," said Leonore. "You ought to run the game
out with that position. I think, papa, that I'll go to bed. I find I'm a
little tired. Good-night, Mr. Vaughan." Leonore went upstairs, slowly,
deep in thought. She did not ring for her maid. On the contrary she lay
down on her bed in her dinner-gown, to its everlasting detrim