ant and skip with
his millions to the other side. But we demand that the factory be kept
running, and if our wages aren't paid, we'll find means for getting
them. Our country cannot fight the enemy even with a thousand
millionaires. When the American people take the field to fight for the
maintenance of American society and the American state, they have a
right to demand that the families they are compelled to leave at home
shall at least be suitably cared for. Again I say: We'll keep Mr.
Hanbury's factory open."

The air shook with thunderous applause, and a firm determination lighted
up hundreds of faces, wrinkled and scarred from work and worry. And who
would have dared oppose these men when animated by a single thought and
a common purpose? Again and again enthusiastic shouts filled the room,
and the speaker was assured that not a man present would fail to be on
hand the next morning.

Leaning against the door-post, Robertson made notes of this occurrence
also and then looked round in a vain endeavor to find a means of escape
from the suffocating atmosphere. While doing so his glance fell on the
spot where only a few moments before he had observed the swaying shadow
of the speaker. The latter's place had been taken by another, who was
making a frantic but vain effort to secure quiet and attention. With his
arms waving in the air he looked through the murky atmosphere for all
the world like a quickly turning wind-mill.

Gradually the applause ceased, while everybody in the room, Robertson
included, was startled by the announcement of the chairman that Mr.
Hanbury was most anxious to address the assemblage. A moment of
astonished silence and then Bedlam broke loose. "What, Mr. Hanbury wants
to speak?" "Not the old one, the young one!" "He must be mad. What does
he want here?" "Three cheers for Mr. Hanbury!" "Down with him! We don't
want him here, we can manage our own affairs!" "Let him speak!" "Three
cheers for Mr. Hanbury!" "Be quiet, damn you, why don't you shut up?"
These and other similarly emphatic shouts reached Robertson's ears. He
hunted for his last pencil in his vest-pocket, and when he looked up
again, he saw through the cloud of smoke a tall, refined person standing
on the table.

"We don't want to be discharged! Don't let our wives starve!" the voices
began again, and it was some time before it became possible for the
speaker to make himself heard.

"Is that really Mr. Hanbury?" Robertson asked one