It was the Fourth of July in the year 1913. In accordance with the law of precedent and of patriotism every town and city in the United States should have had a public celebration of the day. But Fairweather was to have none. With the exception of a flag-raising on the plaza in front of the Barriscale mills the national anniversary was to go entirely unrecognized in the town so far as any public demonstration was concerned. But the flag-raising in itself was to be no inconsiderable event. Through the liberality of certain public-spirited citizens, principally gentlemen belonging to the Barriscale Manufacturing Company, a tall and beautifully tapering staff had been erected, capped with a gilded ball, and a handsome American flag had been procured and was ready to be drawn aloft.

It was a rare July day. The air was fresh and clear, the sky was cloudless, the heat was not oppressive.

The exercises were to take place at three o’clock, and it now wanted twenty minutes of that hour, but people were already beginning to come. They were strolling lazily down the four streets that led into the plaza, standing expectantly at the corners, hugging the shade of the big mill building on the west.

On the southerly curb, talking with each other, stood Halpert McCormack and Ben Barriscale. They had both reached the age of eighteen years. The one straight, slender and fair-haired, was telling the other that he had obtained employment in the Citizens’ Bank and was to begin work there the following day. The career thus to be begun was not the one that had been planned for him. He was to have gone to college and then into one of the learned professions. But the death of his father soon after his own graduation from a preparatory school made it necessary to change the plans for his future, and he was to go into business instead.

“It’s too bad,” said Ben, “that you had to cut out your college course. You should have been a professor of something or other, you’re so chock full of wisdom. What was it the boys used to call you? Socrates?”

“I believe so.”

“And you were going to set the world right; weren’t you?”

“Well, I thought there were some things in the world that needed to be set right; I still think so.”

“For instance?”

“For instance, the unequal distribution of wealth.”

“Oh, every one can’t be rich. Who’d do the world’s work?”

“No, every one can’t be rich, that’s true. But if things were properly adjusted every one would have plenty, and there would be no poverty.”

“That’s some of your socialistic nonsense, Hal. I’ve got a right to be rich if I can get the money honestly. And I’m going to be rich, too, if hard work will get me there.”

“Ah, but you’re Benjamin Barriscale’s son. And your father is a millionaire. And you’ve got a chance that no other fellow in this town has. That’s what I’m finding fault with. Opportunity should be equal for all of us. And when things are set right it will be.”

How much longer this sociological discussion would have continued had it not been interrupted is uncertain. But it was interrupted. An automobile drew up to the curb, and in it was seated Miss Sarah Halpert, alone save for the driver of the car. Her appearance and manner indicated that she was a woman of some importance in the community. She was appropriately gowned, attractive in looks, and under the brim of her flower-bedecked hat her abundant hair showed becomingly gray. The fair-haired boy greeted her cordially as Aunt Sarah, the dark and stocky one with due courtesy, as Miss Halpert.

“I suppose you boys are here to see the flag-raising,” she said. “I’m sorry I can’t stay for it. I like the idea tremendously.” She turned to face the dark-haired boy and continued: “I’m not a great admirer of your father, Ben, everybody knows that. But I certainly commend him for heading the movement to put this flag here. Parades and speeches are all right enough in their way; but when it comes to inspiring genuine patriotism, give me the sight of ‘Old Glory’ waving in the breeze every time.”

“Yes,” answered Ben, “there are so many persons of foreign birth working in the mills that father thought the sight of the flag every day would be a constant reminder to them of the duty they owe this government, and the necessity they are under of obeying its laws.”

“Good idea!” exclaimed the lady. “Don’t you think so, Hal?” turning to the fair-haired boy.

“I suppose so,” replied Hal, “provided the government is so conducted as to command their obedience and respect.”

“Well, isn’t it?” she asked sharply.

“Oh, I think there are some things that might be changed for the better.”

“What are they, I’d like to know? No, you needn’t tell me. It’s just some of your high-brow notions about the social order and that sort of thing, and I don’t want to hear them. What business has a boy of your age, anyway, befogging his brains over economic problems? Studying baseball scores is a vastly better business for young fellows like you.”

The music of an approaching band had grown more distinct, and a procession could be seen coming down the main street toward the plaza. The procession consisted of town officials, speakers of the day, committeemen, prominent citizens, a group of young girls dressed in white, and the local company of state militia. Miss Sarah Halpert stood up in her automobile to watch the soldiers as they marched by. Dressed in khaki, arms at a right-shoulder, straight and sturdy, obeying commands with the precision of veterans, they certainly formed a pleasing and inspiring sight. The woman clapped her hands vigorously in approval, her eyes sparkled, and a flush came into her cheeks.

“Splendid!” she cried. “There’s young manhood for you!” She turned toward the fair-haired youth.

“Halpert McCormack,” she exclaimed, “you ought to be in that company this minute. A boy whose father was captain of it for ten years has no right to be outside of it.”

“I’ve been thinking about joining,” responded Hal. “I’m eighteen now, and I suppose I could get in. I think father would have liked me to be a member.”

“Of course he would. You must apply for admission to the company at once. What about you, Ben?” turning to the other boy.

“Oh, my application’s already in,” replied Ben. “I believe in the military life. It’s splendid discipline for any fellow. Besides, when my country needs soldiers I want to be prepared to fight.”

“Good! That’s the talk!” She clapped her hands again. “Now go to it, Hal. See who gets a commission first, you or Ben. I’ll tell you what I want,” she continued; “I want to see Halpert McCormack captain of Company E, as his father was before him, and Benjamin Barriscale its first lieutenant.”

“Suppose the order of rank should be reversed?” inquired Hal, laughingly.

“It wouldn’t hurt my feelings a great lot,” she retorted. “It’s only because ‘blood is thicker than water,’ and because you’re my only sister’s son, that I want you to be the ranking officer; but if you don’t deserve the honor I hope to goodness you won’t get it!” She consulted her watch and continued: “Well, I must be off. I’ll leave you boys to see that that flag is properly raised. Good-bye, both of you!”

She gave hurried directions to her driver, the car moved forward, and, with a final wave of her hand, she disappeared up the street down which she had so recently come.

The procession had passed by, the soldiers were standing at the foot of the staff at “parade rest,” and the band had already begun to play the opening number of the programme when the two boys, pushing their way through the crowd, reached more nearly the center of activity. Following the music there came an invocation by a local clergyman and a brief address by the mayor. Then the young girls, dressed in white, charged with the duty of actually raising the flag, came forward to perform their patriotic task. Assisted by the chairman of the flag committee, they fastened the colors securely to the halyards and awaited the order to begin hoisting. The company bugler sounded to the color, and the band struck into the first chord of The Star-Spangled Banner. Some one shouted: “Hats off!” and immediately the hat or cap of every man and boy in the assemblage came from his head, the hat or cap of every man and boy save one. Immediately back of Ben and Hal stood a black-haired, dark-eyed young man, apparently of foreign birth or descent. His hat did not come off. He was fairly well dressed, he bore marks of intelligence if not of culture, and there appeared to be no reason why he should not join the rest of the company in doing honor to the national anthem and the national flag. Moreover, from his easy manner and confident look, it soon became apparent that he acted, or failed to act, not from ignorance or inadvertence, but from deliberate choice.

“Take off your hat!” said a man standing beside him.

“Why should I take off my hat?” he replied.

“Because they’re playing ‘The Star-Spangled Banner’ and they’re raising the flag, you fool!”

The young man with the covered head did not appear to resent the uncomplimentary remark, but he made no move which might have been interpreted as an intention to obey the order that had been given to him. The two boys had already turned to face the speakers. People in the vicinity who, by reason of the band’s music, had failed to hear what had been said, yet knowing that a quarrel was beginning, began to move toward the immediate scene of the controversy. The defiant young man regarded them with cool indifference.

“The flag which they raise,” he said, “stands too much for the injustice and the wrong, that I should honor it.”

The man who had protested grew red in the face.

“Why, you ingrate,” he shouted, “the protection you get from that flag was what brought you to this free country, and you know it!”

And the defiant one answered:

“The only flag which gives the protection to all men alike is the red flag of the common brotherhood. I honor no capitalist banner.”

He spoke distinctly, decisively, with an accent that marked him as a student if not a master of English. Still his hat remained on his head. More people, attracted by the speakers, began to crowd closer, eager to hear, at short range, what was an interesting if not a heated controversy.

In the meantime, at the foot of the flagstaff, there was confusion and delay. The band was still playing, but the colors were not moving upward. Something had gone wrong with the apparatus by which the flag was to be hoisted. A portion of the blue field and some of the milk-white stars had been drawn up above the heads of the audience, but had refused to go higher. Apparently the halyards had caught in the pulley at the top of the staff, and all the efforts of the young girls robed in white, and all the efforts of the chairman of the flag committee, mingled freely with perspiration and ejaculations, failed to release them. But, even in the face of this attractively awkward situation, people were turning and pressing in ever increasing numbers toward the man who had refused to uncover his head either at the sound of the music or the sight of the folds of The Star-Spangled Banner.

An impetuous young fellow, pushing his way in from the outskirts of the crowd, cried:

“Oh, don’t fool with him! If he won’t take his hat off, knock it off!”

The suggestion was no sooner made than it was acted upon. A near-by hand shot out, and the next moment the offensive head-gear went flying out into the crowd. The face of the defiant one flushed and paled, his dark eyes blazed with indignation, his lips twitched; but he did not speak. No one appeared to sympathize with him; no one put forth any effort to protect him. On the contrary, all those who witnessed the overt act made noisy manifestation of their approval; all but Halpert McCormack. He was silent and doubtful. He would have resented any imputation of disloyalty on his part either in thought or deed. But the thing that had just been done did not appeal to him. It offended his sense of justice. His sympathy, which had always been for the under dog in any fight, was aroused in behalf of the man who was standing alone in the midst of a hostile crowd. But he said nothing; it would have been useless to protest. Nor was he quite sure that the man had not, partly at least, deserved the treatment he had received. Doubtless the incident would have been closed then and there had not the red-faced man who had originally protested desired further to express his abhorrence of acts savoring of disloyalty to the flag.

“You’ve no kick coming,” he said, addressing the young man whose hat had been forcibly removed and was now irretrievably crushed; “you’re lucky not to have your face smashed as well as your hat.”

“Well,” was the prompt reply, “if this is what you call it, the American spirit of fair play, then I have the good reason to dishonor your American flag.”

And the red-faced man, growing still more angry, retorted:

“If you don’t like the American spirit, go back where you came from. What business have you got here, anyway? Who are you?”

Again the reply came promptly and deliberately:

“I have the same business here like you. Me, I am Hugo Donatello, Internationalist. My journal, which I publish in your city, is by name The Disinherited. I commend it to your reading that you may learn from it the first principles of human justice and decency.”

Then the fellow at whose suggestion Donatello was made hatless broke in again:

“Oh, I know who he is. He’s an anarchist. He’s no business here. Run him out!”

Half a dozen voices echoed the cry: “Run him out! Run him out!”

In the crowd there was a movement, perceptible and ominous, an involuntary drawing toward the center of the disturbance. The red-faced man spoke up again:

“Gentlemen, this fellow is not only an enemy to our government, he has also insulted our flag. Before he is permitted to go he should be made to apologize.”

The idea became suddenly popular.

“Yes,” was the cry from a dozen throats, “make him apologize!”

The red-faced man turned toward the intended victim. “Well,” he demanded, “are you going to do it?”

“Do what?”

“Apologize.”

“To whom?”

“To the flag.”

“But I do not honor your flag. It is the same as nothing to me.”

“We’ll make you honor it. By the shade of Washington, we’ll make you kiss it!”

“Ah, that is the autocratic boast! But I am of the people. I defy you! I will spit upon your flag!”

He stood, with bloodless face and blazing eyes, desperate and defiant. He could no longer hold his anger in check. He had spoken his mind. And he knew, or should have known, that he must now pay the penalty for his rashness. It was Ben Barriscale who, echoing the red-faced man’s suggestion, shouted:

“Make him kiss the flag!”

It was a suggestion and a demand that was caught up at once by the crowd, and immediately there was a concerted movement to carry it out. A powerful man, standing near Donatello, seized his arms and pinioned them behind his back. A dozen hands reached out to force him toward the spot where the colors still lay in the arms of the girls dressed in white.

Up to this moment Halpert McCormack had looked on disapprovingly, but had held his peace. He could remain silent no longer. His sense of fair play had been outraged. To hound this man into expressions of disloyalty and contempt and then to make him pay the humiliating penalty strained his patience to the breaking point.

“It’s not fair!” he shouted. “You drove him into it. You’ve got no right to punish him!” He started forward, with arms raised as if to strike off the hands that were gripping and pushing the defamer of the flag. But men who were not able to reach Donatello could reach his would-be defender, and they did. They held him back and pulled down his arms, and the red-faced man shouted at him:

“You hold your tongue, young fellow, or you’ll get a dose of the same medicine.”

But the victim of over-zealous patriotism shot a grateful glance at the boy.

“You have the red blood,” he cried; “I salute you!”

Then, hatless, white-faced, outraged in soul and body, Donatello was propelled, not too gently, to the foot of the flagstaff.

The young girls in white became so frightened at the spectacle that they forgot all rules of flag etiquette and dropped the colors to the ground and fled. And into the mass of red, white and blue bunting, caught up by some rescuer, the face of the man who had expressed a desire to spit upon the flag was rudely and violently thrust. He had been forced to his knees, his coat was half torn from his shoulders, and his mass of black hair was flung in disorder across his eyes.

After his commendation of McCormack’s futile effort to protect him he did not again speak. He knew that words would have been not only useless but provocative no doubt of still greater violence. And when the crowd, burning with patriotic zeal, had worked its will with him, had made him, after its fashion, “kiss the flag,” they let him go. They not only let him go, they helped him on his way. They escorted him to the curb at the opening of the main street into the plaza, turned his face to the north, and, with one final thrust, sent him reeling up the walk. Having performed this patriotic task they returned to the foot of the flagstaff where renewed efforts on the part of the chairman of the committee had finally resulted in the freeing of the halyards, and “Old Glory,” hoisted by the girls in white, at last flung its emblematic folds out on the sustaining winds, and flashed its splendid colors in the sunlight of a perfect summer day.

But one young American, Halpert McCormack by name, unconscious of any feeling of disloyalty to his country’s flag, believing nevertheless that it had been made the occasion and the cause of unnecessary and disgraceful persecution, turned away in disgust from the crowd that had been so rudely patriotic, and walked thoughtfully and regretfully toward his home.

And one young radical of foreign birth and destructive purpose, son of Italian parents, outraged beyond expression at his treatment by a patriotic mob, sought his modest quarters to brood over his wrongs, and to lay plans and conceive plots that should in time satisfy his passionate desire for revenge.