Instantly a brooding hush like that which precedes a
hurricane fell upon the gathering. But Yetta did not long remain silent.
"Quick, Arthur, play the Star-Spangled Banner! It's the police. I want
to save these poor souls--" she added, with a gulp in her throat;
"quick, you idiot, the Star-Spangled Banner." But Arthur was almost
fainting. His ringers fell listlessly on the keys, and they were too
weak to make a sound. The police! he moaned, as the knocking deepened
into banging and shouting. What a scandal! What a disgrace! He could
never face his own world after this! To be caught with a lot of crazy
anarchists in a den like this!--Smash, went the outside door! And the
newspapers! They would laugh him out of town. He, Arthur Schopenhauer
Wyartz, the Amateur Anarch! He saw the hideous headlines. Why, the very
daily in which some of his fortune was invested would be the first to
mock him most!
The assault outside increased. He leaped to the floor, where Yetta was
surrounded by an excited crowd. He plucked her sleeve. She gazed at him
disdainfully.
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