eing the proudest moment of his life.
He was on the point of addressing some remarks to the bartender, when
the little round orator cut in with an energy quite amazing.

[Illustration: "VE VILL SHTRIKE, MEIN PRUDERS!"]

"Der zoshul refolushun haf gome, my prudders!" he said. "Der bowder
vas all retty der match to be struck mit. Ve neet noddings but ter
stretch out mit der hant und der victory dake. Der gabitalist fool
himselluf. He say mit himselluf 'I haf der golt und der bower, hey?' He
von pig fool. He dinks you der fool vas, und der eye uf him he vinks
like der glown py der circus. But yust vait. Vait till der honest sons
uf doil rise by deir might oop und smite der blow vich gif liperty to
der millions!"

At this there was a wild outburst of applause and a chorus of hoarse
shouts: "Up mit der red flag!" "Strike now!" "Anarchy foreffer!"

"Ve vill shtrike, mine prudders," continued the little round orator,
growing very ardent and red in the face. "Ve vill no vait long. Ve vill
kill! Ve vill burn! Ve vill der togs uf var loose und ride to driumph in
der shariot uf fire. Ve vill deir housen pull down deir hets upoud, und
der street will run mit der foul plood uf der gabitalist!"

A mighty uproar arose at these gory suggestions, and would not be
subdued until all the glasses had been refilled and the enthusiasm that
had been aroused was quenched in beer.

Mr. O'Royster had listened to these proceedings with some misgivings. He
turned to his companion, who stood solemn and silent by his side, and
observed:

"D' I unnerstan' you t' say, Woffski, 't you 's goin' home?"

"Yah."

"Doncher zhink 's mos' time t' go?"

"Ve vas dere now."

"Home?"

"Yah."

"Can't say I'm pleased with your d'mestic surroundings, Boffski. Razzer
too mush noise f' man of my temp'ment. Guesh I'll haffer bid you
g'night, Boffski."

"Nein."

"Yesh, Boffski, mush go. Gotter 'gagement."

"Vait. I haf not show you yet--"

"T' tell truf, Moffski, I've seen 'nuff. 'F I wasser shee more, might
not sleep well. Might have nightmare. Don't shink 's good f' me t' shee
too much, ol' f'law."

"Listen."

The little round orator, refreshed and reinvigorated, began again.

"You must arm yoursellef, my prudders. You must haf guns und powder und
ball und--"

"Dynamite!" yelled several.

"Yah. Dot vas der drue veapon uf der zoshul refolushun. Dynamite! You
must plenty haf. Ve must avenge der murder uf our brudders in Shegaco.
Deir innoc