Just an excerpt from the first page or so.
In the center of the crowd that had formed before the department store the hunting cap, the
green radius of the circle of people, was bobbing about violently.
"I shall contact the mayor," Ignatius was shouting.
"Let the boy alone," a voice said from the crowd.
"Go get the strippers on Bourbon Street," an old man added. "He's a good boy. He's waiting for
his momma."
"Thank you," Ignatius said haughtily. "I hope that all of you will bear witness to this outrage."
"You come with me," the policeman said to Ignatius with waning self-confidence. The crowd
was turning into something of a mob, and there was no traffic patrolman in sight. "We're going
to the precinct."
"A good boy can't even wait for his momma by D. H. Holmes." It was the old man again. "I'm
telling you, the city was never like this. It's the communiss."
"Are you calling me a communiss?" the policeman asked the old man while he tried to avoid
the lashing of the lute string. "I'll take you in, too. You better watch out who you calling a
communiss."
"You can't arress me," the old man cried. "I'm a member of the Golden Age Club sponsored by
the New Orleans Recreation Department."
"Let that old man alone, you dirty cop," a woman screamed. "He's prolly somebody's
grampaw."
"I am," the old man said. "I got six granchirren all studying with the sisters. Smart, too."
Over the heads of the people Ignatius saw his mother walking slowly out of the lobby of the
department store carrying the bakery products as if they were boxes of cement.
"Mother!" he called. "Not a moment too soon. I've been seized."