n the move.

Then came the turn of the centre companies; and here a very different
problem presented itself. Leading up to the street was one broad
stairway in the middle of the great depot building, and one, somewhat
narrower, a hundred feet farther north, next to the baggage-rooms.
Between the tracks and the offices on this floor, enclosing a space
perhaps a hundred yards in length by ten in breadth, was a high iron
fence, pierced here and there with little turnstile gates, now closed,
and by three or four rolling gates, the main or centre one of which
stood open. This was directly opposite the broad stairway. It was this
through which the battalion had marched, the newspaper men and officials
had followed, and the crowd had speedily bulged. No good would result
from shoving back this protruding swarm of curious or combative
citizens, for the space behind the bars was packed solid. The crowd
began to grin and exchange jocular remarks. It would take a long time to
squeeze them back through the stairway, and meanwhile they could have
lots of fun, and Elmendorf a chance for a speech, so they began to shout
for him. He was still squeaking and gesticulating about the knot of
newspaper men and staff-officers, but Kenyon, climbing on a
baggage-truck, was calmly looking over the sea of upturned and often
leeringly impudent faces beyond the grating. Then he called Major Cross
to his side, and together they looked it over.

The crowd began to wax facetious. They knew the soldiers wouldn't shoot
so long as they were not shooting. They knew they wouldn't prod with
their bayonets men who manifestly couldn't get back. They thought they
had the regulars, in fine, where they couldn't do a blessed thing unless
the police would come and pull the crowd out from behind, and the police
were not interfering with the populace just then. An American street
crowd is gifted with a fine sense of humor, and the sight of these two
veteran officers perched on a baggage-truck and reconnoitring their
ground was full of suggestion. "Don't jump on us, major: we couldn't
stand them feet!" shouted one jovial tough. "A speech from
Old-Man-Afraid-Of-His-Dignity!" sang out a second. The gang guffawed,
and the officers went on with their conference utterly unmoved, deaf,
apparently, to the salutations. Then Kenyon climbed down and said a word
to the superintendent, who nodded appreciatively. The adjutant went one
way, the regimental quartermaster the other