"These men have not got used to us yet, and we will just have to be patient with them," said the Sergeant, laying about with his baton as opportunity offered, not in any slashing wholesale manner, but making selection, and delivering his blows with the eye and hand of an artist.

He was handling the situation gently and with discretion.
Still the crowd kept pressing hard upon the two men at the door.
"We must put a stop to this," said the Sergeant seriously.
"Here you!" he called to Jacob above the uproar.
Jacob pushed nearer to him.
"Tell these fellows that I am not wanting to hurt any of them, but if they do not get quiet soon, I will attack them and will not spare them, and that if they quit their fighting, none of them will be hurt except the guilty party." At once Jacob sprang upon a beer keg and waving his arms wildly, he secured a partial silence, and translated for them the Sergeant's words.
"And tell them, too," said the doctor in a high, clear voice, "there is a man dying over there that I have got to attend to right now, and I haven't time for this foolishness." As he spoke, he once more bored his way through the crowd to the side of Rosenblatt, who was continuing to gasp painfully and spit blood.

The moment of danger was past.

The excited crowd settled down again into an appearance of stupid anxiety, awaiting they knew not what.
"Now then," said the Sergeant, turning to the Dalmatian who had recovered consciousness and was standing sullen and passive.

He had made his attempt for liberty, he had failed, and now he was ready to accept his fate.