"To-morrow."

"Yes, sir. And now--"

"My _now_ is your _when_! Your job is to find the legal way of helping
the Cause."

"I will!" promised Onthemaker, heartfully. The Cause would be his Cause.
He'd fix it so they couldn't leave out his name.

But Hendrik saw the gleam in the lawyer's eye.

That's the worst of all thoughts of self. They invariably are
undisguisable.

"The Cause, Onthemaker," said Hendrik, sternly, "is the cause of the
Society of American Sandwich Artists. We are not associated to make
money for ourselves, but for our employers. This is revolutionary.
Moreover, we are not working-men, but artists. Therefore our men not
only love their work, but are law-abiding. This will make the employers
helpless to retaliate. We shall never do anything without invoking the
aid of the law, for I believe that the law will help the poor not less
than the rich if properly--"

"Advertised," prompted Max. "I get you. In the forum of the people's
liberties--the daily papers--is the place to try--"

Hendrik held up a hand. He had chosen the right lawyer. The
interpretation of the law depends exclusively upon the tone of voice.
All reporters are trained to be judges of elocution. They have to be, in
republics.

"To-morrow--" Here Hendrik paused.

Max's face paled slightly as he waited. What was coming?

Hendrik finished: "_I shall telephone to you!_"

Max drew in his breath sharply.

Hendrik then nodded. It meant, "You have my permission to retire!"

"Thank you, Mr. Rutgers," said Max, respectfully, and withdrew from the
presence on tiptoe.

Hendrik then beckoned to his sandwich lieutenant. "Fleming!" he said,
sternly.

Fleming threw up an arm defensively from force of habit--the slave's
immemorial salute. Then he grinned sheepishly. Then he said, eagerly,
"Yes, boss!"

"I'm going to make you chief of the Meal Ticket Department, and I expect
you to maintain discipline. But if I ever hear of any graft, such as
accepting bonuses--" He closed his jaws and his fists. When you close
both at the same time you inevitably win the debate. It is, however,
difficult.

"Honest, b-boss," stammered Fleming, his eyes on Hendrik's right fist.
"Honest, I--"

The boss's right unclenched itself. Fleming drew in a deep breath.

"Get the names and addresses of all the men here--in their own writing.
Ask Onthemaker for a blank-book, and when the men have signed give the
book back to him. They've got to sign!"

Flem