“Believe me, the situation is serious.  That bear reached out his paws tonight to crush us.  He has said there are a million and a half of revolutionists in the United States.  That is a fact.  He has said that it is their intention to take away from us our governments, our palaces, and all our purpled ease.  That, also, is a fact.  A change, a great change, is coming in society; but, haply, it may not be the change the bear anticipates.  The bear has said that he will crush us.  What if we crush the bear?”

The throat-rumble arose in the great room, and man nodded to man with indorsement and certitude.  Their faces were set hard.  They were fighters, that was certain.

“But not by buzzing will we crush the bear,” Mr. Wickson went on coldly and dispassionately.  “We will hunt the bear.  We will not reply to the bear in words.  Our reply shall be couched in terms of lead.  We are in power.  Nobody will deny it.  By virtue of that power we shall remain in power.”

He turned suddenly upon Ernest.  The moment was dramatic.

“This, then, is our answer.  We have no words to waste on you.  When you reach out your vaunted strong hands for our palaces and purpled ease, we will show you what strength is.  In roar of shell and shrapnel and in whine of machine-guns will our answer be couched.* We will grind you revolutionists down under our heel, and we shall walk upon your faces.  The world is ours, we are its lords, and ours it shall remain.  As for the host of labor, it has been in the dirt since history began, and I read history aright.  And in the dirt it shall remain so long as I and mine and those that come after us have the power.  There is the word.  It is the king of words—­Power.  Not God, not Mammon, but Power.  Pour it over your tongue till it tingles with it.  Power.”

* To show the tenor of thought, the following definition is quoted from “The Cynic’s Word Book” (1906 A.D.), written by one Ambrose Bierce, an avowed and confirmed misanthrope of the period:  “Grapeshot, n.  An argument which the future is preparing in answer to the demands of American Socialism.”

“I am answered,” Ernest said quietly.  “It is the only answer that could be given.  Power.  It is what we of the working class preach.  We know, and well we know by bitter experience, that no appeal for the right, for justice, for humanity, can ever touch you.  Your hearts are hard as your heels with which you tread upon the faces of the poor.  So we have preached power.  By the power of our ballots on election day will we take your government away from you—­”

“What if you do get a majority, a sweeping majority, on election day?” Mr. Wickson broke in to demand.  “Suppose we refuse to turn the government over to you after you have captured it at the ballot-box?”

“That, also, have we considered,” Ernest replied.  “And we shall give you an answer in terms of lead.  Power you have proclaimed the king of words.  Very good.  Power it shall be.  And in the day that we sweep to victory at the ballot-box, and you refuse to turn over to us the government we have constitutionally and peacefully captured, and you demand what we are going to do about it—­in that day, I say, we shall answer you; and in roar of shell and shrapnel and in whine of machine-guns shall our answer be couched.