"Dey fawr'd a bullet clean through de Sun-paper
room," pursued the boy, "an' dey bust up dem dere winder-glassis--"
Pausing involuntarily to look, I caught stray scraps of additional
information.
"Twenty-five people killed."
"As many as that?"
"Oh, yes; fully, I should say. The Sixth fired right into the crowd,
all along from Gay to Eutaw Street."
"Well, I hear the Sixth are pretty well cleaned out by this time, so
it's tit for tat."
Then--
"The Fifth must be there now--"
"The Fifth?--what are they--two hundred men against two thousand?--Lord
knows how it will end. I hope this old town won't be burnt, that's all."
The boy, listening, turned fearfully around, looking with distended eyes
into mine. "Come on," I responded, and we spoke no more until we reached
Liberty Street. Then, all at once, above the street noises--the rumbling
of fugitive vehicles, the jingle of street-cars, and the hum of excited
voices--rose a deep, hollow roar; a horrible sound of human menace in
it, which was distinguishable even at that distance. The boy pressed
closer, clutching timidly at my hand.
"Is yer--is yer gwine ter keep on?" he faltered.
"De ole gentlemun, he 'lowed puticler you wa'n't to run no resk 'count
o' him."
"Where _is_ he?" I asked. "In the thick of it?"
"No, sir; he's lay'n' down in a little alley--clean off d' street.
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