f she was seein' things again that
she'd like to forget--awful things. And she was makin' those three
hundred men see the same things.

All of a sudden she breaks off, covers her face with her hands, and
shivers. Then, quick as a flash, she turns and points to Stukey. I
caught his name as she hisses it out. Stukey, turnin' a sickly yellow,
slumps in his chair. Another second, and she's turned back to the men
out front. She is puttin' something up to them--a question, straight
from the shoulder.

The first to make a move is a squatty, thick-necked gent with one eye
walled out. He jumps on a chair, shouts a few excited words, waves his
long arms, and starts for the stage businesslike. The next thing I knew
the riot was on, with Mortimer J. Stukey playin' the heavy lead and
bein' tossed around like a rat.

It must have been Anton that switched off the lights and sent for the
police. I didn't stop to ask. Bein' near the door, I felt my way
downstairs and made a quick exit. Course, the ceremonies promised to
continue interestin', but somehow this struck me as a swell time for me
to quit. So I strolls back to the hotel and goes to bed.

Yes, I was some curious to know how the muss ended, but I didn't hurry
around next mornin'. As a matter of fact, I'd enjoyed the society of the
Sobowskis quite a lot durin' the past two days, and I thought I'd better
stay away for a while. They're a strenuous bunch when they're stirred
up--even a kittenish young thing like Anna.

About noon I 'phoned the works, and found that all was serene there,
with no signs of a strike yet.

"No, and I got a hunch there won't be any, either," says I.

I was plannin' to linger in Bridgeport another day or so; but when the
afternoon paper came out I changed my mind. Accordin' to the
police-court reporter's account, there'd been some little disturbance in
Warsaw Hall the night before. Seems a stranger by the name of Stukey had
butted into a meetin' of the Pulaski Social Club, and had proceeded to
get so messy that it had been found necessary to throw him out. Half a
dozen witnesses told how rude he'd been, includin' the well-known
citizen, Mr. Anton Sobowski, who owned the premises. The said Stukey had
been a bit damaged; but after he'd been patched up at the City Hospital
he'd been promised a nice long rest--thirty days, to be exact.

So I jumps the next train back to Broadway.

"Ah, Lieutenant!" says Mr. Ellins, glancin' up from his desk. "Find
a