the trouble-maker.

In Union square, as on Riverside Drive, the foliage was tenderly green
and the sunlight was a golden smile. Pushcarts freighted with potted
plants and fruit gave scraps of festal color, and a stand canopied with
a yellow-and-blue umbrella offered pies and sandwiches for sale.

But the crowd itself was colorless and somber of mood, and as the car
stopped the speaker pointed to it with a passion-shaken hand, so that
its principal occupant knew that he was recognized and being made the
target of a verbal onslaught. Those men standing nearest turned and
gazed at him with an idle curiosity. They were seeing a
multi-millionaire at close range. But from a few near the center of the
throng came jeers and shouts of insult for the man whom they chose to
regard as a representative of Capital's tyranny. A black-visaged
malcontent of humorless eyes made his way to the margin of the gathering
and, with a pie for which he neglected to pay, opened a fusillade upon
the rich man's car. After that came an orange or two contributed by some
one whose position was strategically close to the fruit-vender's cart
and at last a sounder missile struck and shivered the wind-shield.

For just a moment the situation had a precarious seeming for the
reviled young master of finance, and Paul's delicate face blanched a
little. Hamilton Burton regarded himself as the brother of monarchs and
it devolves upon the Crown to face the envious animosity of groundlings.

He leaned forward and said quietly to the chauffeur, "Swing around into
the open and drive on."

But recognition of the often-photographed face was not confined to the
assailants and instantly the focused humanity was being broken into
scattering factors by police officers who had not hitherto been visible.
The capitalist saw two struggling offenders being roughly hustled away
in the custody of uniformed captors and a patrolman swung to the running
board of the car and remained there as it rounded the square, with his
loosened club swinging ready for service in his right hand.

"You weren't struck, were you, Mr. Burton?" he asked in the tone of
solicitude to which Hamilton had grown accustomed, and which he accepted
as a part of his right.

He smiled. "No harm done but a broken glass--and the less noise made
about the incident the better I'll be pleased."

The car had now reached the south end of the area, where the bronze
Washington stands with his hand raised as if