n!"

A car stopped outside. They heard the sound of footsteps in the hall,
the door was quickly opened. Mr. Foley stood there. He was looking
very grave and white, but his eyes flashed at the sight of Maraton.

"You!" he exclaimed.

He gave his coat and hat to the servant; then he closed the door behind
him. He remained standing--he offered no form of greeting to his
unexpected visitor.

"What do you want?" he demanded. "Why have you come to me?"

"To give you your chance," Maraton replied, with swift emphasis. "You
are the only statesman I know who would have courage to accept it. Dare
you?"

Mr. Foley remained speechless. He stood perfectly still, with folded
arms.

"This isn't an hour for recriminations," Maraton continued. "I have
played into Maxendorf's hands--I admit it. There's time to checkmate
him. I'll free every railroad in the country to-morrow, and the
coal-pits next day, with your help."

"I have forced your delegates to come to me," Mr. Foley answered. "To
all my offers they have but one reply: they await your word; they are
not seeking for terms."

"Accept mine," Maraton begged, "and I swear to you that they shall
consent. Mind, it isn't a small thing, but it's salvation, and it's
the only salvation."

"Go on," Mr. Foley commanded.

"Pledge your word," Maraton proceeded deliberately, "pledge me your word
that next Session you will nationalise the railways on the basis of
three per cent for capital, a minimum wage of two pounds ten, a maximum
salary of eight hundred pounds, contracts to be pro rata if profits are
not earned. Pledge me that, and the railway strike is over."

"It's Socialism," Elisabeth gasped.

"It's common sense," Mr. Foley declared. "I accept. What about the
coal?"

"You don't need to ask me that," Maraton replied swiftly. "Our
coalfields are the blood and sinews of the country. They belong to the
Government more naturally even than the labour-made railways. Take
them. Pay your fair price and take them. Do away with the horde of
money-bloated parvenus, who fatten and decay on the immoral profits they
drag from Labour. We are at the parting of the ways. We wait for the
strong man. Raise your standard, and the battle is already won."

"And you?" Mr. Foley muttered.

"I am your man," Maraton answered.

Mr. Foley held out his hand.

"If you mean it," he said gravely, "we'll get through yet. But are you
sure about the others--Ernshaw and his Union men? We've tried all