And I must say I never screamed better in all my life.

And that wallop I handed out, was a peach.

If I don't pull down five hundred for this night's work--" "Shut up, you -- --!" snarled Caffery, as he turned into the stairway.
"Keep that lip o' yours quiet, will you, or--" The woman stared at him a moment, then laughed insolently and snapped her smoke-yellowed fingers at him in defiance.
"Mind you show up in court, in the mornin'!" panted the officer, staggering downstairs under the weight of Gabriel's huge shoulders.
"Better arrest her now," suggested Caffery, "an' hold her." "You will, like Hell!" retorted the woman.
"Shhh! In one door an' out the other," the second detective whispered in her ear, as she stood there in the doorway.

"I'll see to it you get fifty extra for _that_!" "Oh, if that's the game, fine business!" she smiled.

"Go to it--I'm your huckleberry!" Thus it befell that, while a large and growing crowd observed, under the arc-light on the corner--a crowd where no fewer than six reporters, all duly tipped off in advance, were taking notes--Gabriel Armstrong, the Socialist speaker and leader, was bundled, unconscious, into a patrol wagon of the City of Rochester; and with him, a drunken-acting harlot, babbling charges of white-slave extortion and violence against him; and with them both, several witnesses, who would have sworn that Heaven was Hell, for five dollars cash in hand.
Thus was the stage set, for the next session of the honorable court.
Thus were the wires pulled.