MEET ME ON THE BARRICADES

Revolution, the midwife of history, is about to
deliver a new society.

At the monument of Alexander III, orators ad-
dress the crowds who stamp and thump themselves
to keep warm. The speeches are impassioned,
electric. ,

Suddenly out of one of the side streets the police
make a sortie, opening fire on the people. Men and
women flee, terrified. '

All is confusion; but Tovarich Pyotr Simpson
stands firm.

“Comrades,” he shouts above the din, “do not
run!”

His voice is no longer thin and weak. A holy cause  

has given him strength; his voice is stentorian.

“Death to the Pharaohs!”

He draws his automatic from his holster and fires
into the ranks of the oncoming police. They waver
and in this moment the courage of the crowd stiffens.
A soldier in the ranks of the demonstrants pulls the
pin of a hand grenade, hurls it. It explodes with a
deafening roar. The tide is turned; the police are
routed.

A revolutionist of professorial appearance wearing
pince-nez and small pointed beard congratulates
Pyotr.

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