They gave him all the light the flickering candles afforded as he adjusted the machinery, and all were bending over the press when a low, distant growl was heard, rising slowly to a frenzied shout.

A revolver popped--another--followed by wild cries from the street.
The girls grew a little pale, but Thursday Smith put his hand on the lever of the press and said: "All right.

The moment they give us the current we're ready to run." Patsy straightened up with a sigh of relief, then gave a low cry as the screens of the two windows of the pressroom were smashed in and through the openings men began to tumble into the room.

At once Hetty confronted them with leveled revolver and the sight caused them to hesitate.
"Out o' the way, you women!" called a burly fellow who wore a green sweater and an oilskin hat; "we don't want to hurt you if we can help.
There's the one we're after!" He pointed a finger at Thursday Smith.
"You can't have him," retorted Beth, half shielded behind the militant Hetty.

"This is private property, and you're trespassing.