She shook her head, but the flame was blowing high now
in her eyes. A hand fell on Harrigan's shoulder.

"Hey!" said the sergeant in a loud voice.

Harrigan turned slowly and the sergeant's hand fell away. The man of
the carnation was far in the background.

"Well?"

"That flower. You can't get away with little tricks like that. You
better be starting on. Move along."

Harrigan glanced slowly from face to face. The three policemen drew
closer together as if for mutual protection.

"Please--honey!" urged the whisper of the girl.

The hand of Harrigan resting on the window sill had gathered to a
hard-bunched fist, white at the knuckles, but he nodded across the open
space between the cottages.

"If you're looking for work," he said, "seems as though you'd find a
handful over there."

A clatter of sharp, quick voices rose from a group of Negro soldiers
gathering around a white man. No one could tell the cause of the
quarrel. It might have been anything from an oath to a blow.

"Watch him," said Harrigan. "He looks like a man." He added