as the product of Mr. Mix's genius) and if any one
answered Yes, he was snared: if he said No, he was ambushed, and if he
said nothing he was cooked. It reminded the Mayor of the man who
claimed that in a debate, he would answer every question of his
adversary with a simple No or Yes--and the first question was: "Have
you stopped beating your wife?"

The Exhibitors held a meeting behind closed doors, and gave out the
statement that nothing was to be gained by a public hearing. But they
launched a flank attack on the Council only to discover that the
Council was wide awake, and knew that its bread was buttered on one
side only.

"We are listening," said the Chairman, with statesmanlike dignity,
"for the voice of the people, and so far we haven't heard a peep. It
looks as if they don't _want_ you fellows to run Sunday's, don't it?"

The spokesman of the Exhibitors cleared his throat. "Statistics prove
that every Sunday, an average of six thousand people--"

"That's all right. We've seen your petition. And Mr. Mutt and Mr. Kid
and most of the rest of your patrons don't seem to be registered
voters. How about it?"

The Council burst into a loud laugh, and the spokesman retreated in
discomfiture.

For several days, Henry was fairly besieged by his friends, who joked
him about his arrest, and then, out of genuine concern, wanted to know
if his prospects were seriously damaged. To each interrogatory, Henry
waved his hand with absolute nonchalance. As far as he knew, only six
people were in the secret--himself, his wife, Judge Barklay, Standish,
Mr. Archer and Aunt Mirabelle--and he wasn't anxious to increase the
number. His aunt might not have believed it, but this was more on her
account than on his own.

"Lord, no," said Henry, casually. "Don't worry about _me_. I'm only
glad there's some news for the _Herald_. It was getting so dry you had
to put cold cream on it or it'd crack."

By the time that Judge Barklay returned from his vacation, the subject
had even slipped away from the front page of the newspapers. The
flurry was over. And out of a population of fifty thousand,
ninety-nine per cent of whom were normal-minded citizens, neither
ultra-conservative nor ultra-revolutionary, that tiny fraction which
composed the Ethical Reform League had stowed its propaganda down the
throats of the overwhelming majority.

The Judge shrugged his shoulders. "Organization," he said. "They've
got a leader, and speakers, and a