The coincidence was
unfortunate. It seemed to justify Sherwen's bitter words:--
"Come to visa his work. There's the Hochwaldian for you!"
Forward danced and reeled the "Yanki" baiters below, until they
were under the balcony where the little group of Americans
sheltered and raged silently. There the orator again spewed forth
his contempt upon the alien banner, and again the ranks behind him
shrieked their approval of the affront. Miss Polly Brewster,
American of Americans, whose great-grandfathers had fought with
Herkimer and Steuben,--themselves the sons of women who had stood
by the loopholes of log houses and caught up the rifles of their
fallen pioneer husbands, wherewith to return the fire of the
besieging Mohawks,--ran forward to the railing, snatching her
skirt from the detaining grasp of her father. In the corner stood
a huge bowl of roses. Gathering both hands full, she leaned
forward and flung them, so that they fell in a shower of
loveliness upon the insulted flag of her nation.
For an instant silence fell upon the "great unwashed" below. Out
of it swelled a muttering as the leader made a low, mocking
obeisance to the girl, following it with a word that brought a
jubilant yelp from his adherents.
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