Someone to watch over me

where, and a fight broke out between the bodyguards and a dozen desperately discouraged and angry men.
    Jack was disgusted. This Waters man who had posed as the savior of the maltreated veterans was now so out of control he was attacking children. Jack couldn’t imagine anyone in the federal administration who even would say in private with his cronies such nasty things about the Bonus Army Marchers, much less saying it to them en masse.
    As Waters returned to the city, there was a muted, ghostly chorus of boos following him. Other fistfights broke out between Waters’s supporters and his critics.
    Jack went in search of other men from Voorburg. But once again he discovered how hard it was to locate them, much less interview them. One was getting some well-deserved sleep. Another was helping a friend repair his refrigerator-crate home away from home. A third man Jack was seeking had gone over the bridge to the city to check out the latest rumors.
    All over the camp, people were saying that the President had given the marchers this date as the day they must go home. A few, including Mary Towerton, were taking it seriously. When Jack got back to the tent, she was putting the children’s clothing and her own in boxes while her grandfather berated her. “You silly girl! You can just go on home if you want, but I’m staying here!“
    “No, you’re not, Grampa. You’re getting weaker and weaker, and I don’t want to tote you home in a coffin.“
    “Is Grampa going to die?“ her little boy asked. “No, he’s going to cooperate and take good care of himself.“ She seemed sorry the child had overheard her.
    “No chit of a girl is going to tell me what to do!“ Joe Wyman bellowed. The baby, startled out of fitful sleep, started screaming. Mary put her hands over her face and took a couple of deep breaths. She looked up at Jack then and said, “I’ve got everything ready. If you could put these last boxes in the cart, I’ll get Grampa moving. Do you know how to hitch up a mule?“
    “Nope. I’ve got a policy of staying away from mules,“ he said, trying to sound cheerful for her sake. “You hitch up the mule while I get some guys to manhandle your grandfather into the cart.”
    He grabbed a couple of relatively friendly strangers who were lounging around and explained that a young woman with two children needed help with her grandfather.
    “It’s something to do,“ one said.
    The old man used up all his strength and invective trying to resist, but eventually the younger, stronger men prevailed. They were surprisingly gentle with the old man, who kept trying to hit them with his cane.
    “Do you know how to get home?“ Jack asked Mary.
    “I got us here. I can get us back,“ she said grimly. Then she forced herself to smile. “Thank you, Mr. Summer. I couldn’t have done this without your help.”
    Joe Wyman, spread-eagled in the back of the wagon, was already snoring like the devil as his granddaughter urged the mule toward the Eleventh Street Bridge.
    Jack went back inside the tent. He was glad to be rid of old Joe, but he would miss Mary. He lay down on the dirt floor, using his small suitcase as a pillow, and thought he might get some sleep at last.
    But it wasn’t to be. Within ten minutes there was an uproar outside. People were shouting, running all over.
    “What’s happening?“ He grabbed one man’s arm to stop him.
    Struggling to get away, the man said hurriedly, “Hoover’s got the police and army throwing everyone out of the government buildings in the city. They’ve got tanks and sabers and are tear-gassing people. Everybody’s rushing to the aid of the vets.”
    He shook off Jack’s grasp and headed toward the bridge.
    The United States Army was attacking the veterans of the previous generation?
    Jack gasped. Could this possibly be true? Suddenly he realized that Mary Towerton and her children and grandfather were inadvertently part of the exodus of overwrought, angry men. He started running to catch up with her. He’d help her turn the wagon back and tell her to go north through Maryland and circle around the city to escape. He just hoped he could do this and still get back in time to find out what, if anything, was really happening.
    He started running with the rest, being jostled and pushed just as he was rudely pushing past anyone slower than himself. He was almost to the bridge when he spotted the ears of a mule over the crowd. When he got closer he could see that it was