visited very early on Thursday
morning, insisted on accompanying her from his office to her friend's
house on the North Side. On Halstead street their carriage suddenly
stopped. Putting her head out of the window, the countess perceived that
the coachman had drawn up close to the curbstone to avoid the onset of a
yelling mob of boys and men armed with every description of weapon, from
laths and brickbats to old muskets. The boys appeared to regard the whole
affair as merely a gigantic "spree," and shouted "Bread or Blood!" with
the heartiest enthusiasm; but the men marched closer, in silence and with
set faces. The gleaming black eyes, sharp features and tangled black hair
of half of them showed their Polish or Bohemian blood. The others were
Norwegians and Germans, with a sprinkling of Irish and Americans. Their
leader was a tall man whom the countess knew. He had turned to give an
order when she saw him. At that same instant a shabby woman ran swiftly
from a side street and tried to throw her arms about the man's neck. He
pushed her aside, and the crowd swept them both out of sight.

"I think I have seen a woman I know," said the countess composedly; "and
do you know, Mr. Wilder, that our horses have gone? Our Communist friends
prefer riding to walking, it seems." They were obliged to get out of the
carriage. The countess looked up and down the street, but saw no trace of
the woman. Apparently, she had followed the mob.

By this time some small boys, inspired by the occasion, had begun to show
their sympathy with oppressed labor by pelting the two well-dressed
strangers with potatoes and radishes, which they confiscated from a
bloated capitalist of a grocer on the corner. The shower was so thick that
Mr. Wilder was relieved when they reached the Halstead street
police-station, where they sought refuge. Here they passed a sufficiently
exciting hour. They could hear plainly the sharp crack of revolvers and
the yells and shouts of the angry mob blending in one indistinguishable
roar. Once a barefooted boy ran by, screaming that the police were driven
back and the Communists were coming. Then a troop of cavalry rode up the
street on a sharp trot, their bridles jingling and horses' hoofs
clattering. The roar grew louder, ebbed, swelled again, then broke into a
multitude of sounds--screams, shouts and the tumultuous rush of many feet.

A polite sergeant opened the door of the little room where the countess
was sitting to i