n and let me have this one thing as I want it? It
don't amount to much, one way or the other. The boy is sickly and isn't
likely to live long at best."

"But I can't for the life of me see why you should be so keen on
sparing him. What is he to you?"

Cronin hesitated; then in a very low voice he said:

"Once, two years ago, my little kid got out of the yard and unbeknown
to his mother wandered down by the river. We hunted high and low for
him and were well-nigh crazy, for he's all the child we have, you know.
It seems Mr. Laurie was riding along the shore in his automobile and he
spied the baby creeping out on the thin ice. He stopped his car and
called to the little one and coaxed him back until the chauffeur could
get to him and lift him aboard the car. Then they fetched the child to
the village, hunted up where he lived, and brought him home to his
mother. I--I've never forgotten it and I shan't."

"That was mighty decent of Mr. Laurie--mighty decent," Sullivan
admitted slowly. "I've got a kid at home myself."

For a few moments neither man spoke; then Sullivan continued in quick,
brisk fashion, as if he were trying to banish some reverie that plagued
him:

"Well, have your way. We'll leave Mr. Laurie out of this altogether."

"Thank you, Alf."

Sullivan paid no heed to the interruption.

"Now let's can all this twaddle and get down to work," he said sharply.
"We've wasted too much time squabbling over that miserable cripple.
Let's brace up and make our plans. You are for destroying the mills,
eh?"

"It's the only thing that will be any use, it seems to me," Cronin
replied. "If the mills are blown up, it will not only serve as a
warning to the Fernalds but it will mean the loss of a big lot of
money. They will rebuild, of course, but it will take time, and in the
interval everything will be at a standstill."

"It will throw several hundred men out of work," Sullivan objected.

"That can't be helped," retorted Cronin. "They will get out at least
with their lives and will be almighty thankful for that. They can get
other jobs, I guess. But even if they are out of work, I figure some of
them won't be so sorry to see the Fernalds get what's coming to them,"
chuckled Cronin.

"You're right there, Jim!"

"I'll bet I am!" cried Cronin.

"Then your notion would be to plant time bombs at the factories so they
will go off in the night?"

"Yes," confessed Cronin, a shadow of regret in his tone. "That will