CHAPTER XXII
Juggernaut
ALAN came to himself supported by Barcus, his senses still reeling from the concussion of that thunderbolt which he had so unwittingly loosed—the cloud of sulphurous smoke not yet dissipated by the wind. Judith lay at his feet, stunned; and round about other figures, of men insensible, if not, for all he could say, dead.
And then Barcus was hustling him down the wharf.
"Come! Come!" he rallied Alan. "Pull yourself together. Rose is waiting in the car, and if you don't want to be arrested you'll stir your stumps, my son! That explosion is going to bring New Bedford buzzing round our ears like a swarm of hornets!"
His prediction was justified, for just then a policeman appeared as if by magic. Brandishing his night-stick, he made for Alan, as if Instinctively recognizing the cause of the disaster, and would have done him serious injury had not Barcus flung himself at the officer's legs, tackling clean and low.
They went down with a crash, and the fight was on; but Barcus managed to shriek:
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