th us."

Mr. Mix repressed a smile. "Yes, he said if we draft a bill, and get
it introduced and passed, he'll sign it."

"Well, what more could he say?"

He wanted to ask, in turn, what less could be said, but he contained
himself. "You know," he warned her, "as soon as we put out any really
violent propaganda, we're going to lose some of our new members, and
some of our prestige."

"Good! Weed out the dead-wood."

"That's all right, but after what we've done with the food laws and
stopping the sale of cigarettes to boys, and so on, people are looking
at us as a switch to chastise the city. But we don't want them to look
at us as a cudgel. And this state law you've got in mind hits too many
people."

"Let it hit 'em."

"Well, anyway," he pleaded, "there's no sense in going out and waving
the club so everybody's scared off. We ought to take six months or a
year, and do it gradually. And we ought to pass a model ordinance here
first, before we talk about statutes. I'd suggest a series of public
lectures, and a lot of educational pamphlets for a start. I'll write
them myself."

She was impatient, but she finally yielded. "Well, we'll see how it
works. Go ahead and do it."

"I will--I'll have the whole thing done by late this spring."

"Not 'till _then_?" she protested, vigorously.

Mr. Mix shook his head. "Perfect the organization first, and begin to
fight when we've got all our ammunition. It'll take me three months to
get that ready. So far, all we've had is a battle, but now we're
planning a war. I want to be prepared in every detail before we fire a
single more shot."

She regarded him admiringly. "Sounds reasonable at that. You do it
your own way."

He was feeling a warm sense of power, and yet he had his moments of
uncertainty, did Mr. Mix, for even with his genius for hypocrisy, he
sometimes found it difficult to be a hypocrite on both sides of the
same proposition. His status was satisfactory, at the moment, but he
mustn't let Mirabelle get the bit in her teeth, and run away with him.
As soon as ever she got him on record as favouring the sort of
legislation which she herself wanted, Mr. Mix's power was going to
dwindle. And Mr. Mix adored his power, and he hated to think of losing
it by too extravagant propaganda.

There were moments when he wished that Henry were more belligerent, so
that special measures could be taken against him, or that Mirabelle
were more seductive, so that Mr. Mix could