So we came to Prince's, and drew up before the porte-cochere, and
found ourselves confronting an adventure. There was a crowd before
the place, a surging throng half-way down the block, with a whole
line of policemen to hold them back. Over the heads of the crowd
were transparencies, frame boxes with canvas on, and lights inside,
and words painted on them. "Hello!" cried T-S. "Vot's dis?"

Suddenly I recalled what I had read in the morning's paper. The
workers of the famous lobster palace had gone on strike, and trouble
was feared. I told T-S, and he exclaimed: "Oh, hell! Ain't we got
troubles enough vit strikers in de studios, vitout dey come spoilin'
our dinner?"

The footman had jumped from his seat, and had the door open, and the
great man began to alight. At that moment the mob set up a howl.
"For shame! For shame! Unfair! Don't go in there! They starve their
workers! They're taking the bread out of our mouths! Scabs! Scabs!"

I got out second, and saw a spectacle of haggard faces, shouting
menaces and pleadings; I saw hands waved wildly, one or two fists
clenched; I saw the police, shoving against the mass, poking with
their sticks, none too gently. A poor devil in a waiter's costume
stretched out his arms to me, yelling in a foreign dialect: "You
take de food from my babies!" The next moment the club of a
policeman came down on his head, crack. I heard Mary scream behind
me, and I turned, just in the nick of time. Carpenter was leaping
toward the policeman, crying, "Stop!"

There was no chance to parley in this emergency. I grabbed Carpenter