At a signal the mass was to arise, overthrow its masters and rule itself.

Mr. Hendricks stood in the doorway of the pharmacy and stared out at the city he loved.

“Just how far does that sort of stuff go, Cameron?” he asked.  “Will our people take it up?  Is the American nation going crazy?”

“Not a bit of it,” said Willy Cameron stoutly.  “They’re about as able to overthrow the government as you are to shove over the Saint Elmo Hotel.”

“I could do that, with a bomb.”

“No, you couldn’t.  But you could make a fairly sizeable hole in it.  It’s the hole we don’t want.”

Mr. Hendricks went away, vaguely comforted.

CHAPTER XXIII

To old Anthony the early summer had been full of humiliations, which he carried with an increased arrogance of bearing that alienated even his own special group at his club.

“Confound the man,” said Judge Peterson, holding forth on the golf links one Sunday morning while Anthony Cardew, hectic with rage, searched for a lost ball and refused to drop another.  “He’ll hold us up all morning, for that ball, just as he tries to hold up all progress.”  He lowered his voice.  “What’s happened to the granddaughter, anyhow?”

Senator Lovell lighted a cigarette.

“Turned Bolshevist,” he said, briefly.

The Judge gazed at him.

“That’s a pretty serious indictment, isn’t it?”

“Well, that’s what I hear.  She’s living in Jim Doyle’s house.  I guess that’s the answer.  Hey, Cardew!  D’you want these young cubs behind us to play through, or are you going to show some sense and come on?”

Howard, fighting his father tooth and nail, was compelled to a reluctant admiration of his courage.  But there was no cordiality between them.  They were in accord again, as to the strike, although from different angles.  Both of them knew that they were fighting for very life; both of them felt that the strikers’ demands meant the end of industry, meant that the man who risked money in a business would eventually cease to control that business, although if losses came it would be he, and not the workmen, who bore them.  Howard had gone as far as he could in concessions, and the result was only the demand for more.  The Cardews, father and son, stood now together, their backs against a wall, and fought doggedly.

But only anxiety held them together.

His father was now backing Howard’s campaign for the mayoralty, but he was rather late with his support, and in private he retained his cynical attitude.  He had not come over at all until he learned that Louis Akers was an opposition candidate.  At that his wrath knew no bounds and the next day he presented a large check to the campaign committee.

Mr. Hendricks, hearing of it, was moved to a dry chuckle.

“Can’t you hear him?” he demanded.  “He’d stalk into headquarters as important as an office boy who’s been sent to the bank for money, and he’d slam down his check and say just two words.”