“Which would be?” inquired Willy Cameron.

“’Buy ’em’,” quoted Mr. Hendricks.  “The old boy doesn’t know that things have changed since the 80’s.  This city has changed, my lad.  It’s voting now the way it thinks, right or wrong.  That’s why these foreign language papers can play the devil with us.  The only knowledge the poor wretches have got of us is what they’re given to read.  And most of it stinks of sedition.  Queer thing, this thinking.  A fellow can think himself into murder.”

The strike was going along quietly enough.  There had been rioting through the country, but not of any great significance.  It was in reality a sort of trench warfare, with each side dug in and waiting for the other to show himself in the open.  The representatives of the press, gathered in the various steel cities, with automobiles arranged for to take them quickly to any disturbance that might develop, found themselves with little news for the telegraph, and time hung heavy on their hands.

On an evening in July, Howard found Grace dressing for dinner, and realized with a shock that she was looking thin and much older.  He kissed her and then held her off and looked at her.

“You’ve got to keep your courage up, dear,” he said.  “I don’t think it will be long now.”

“Have you seen her?”

“No.  But something has happened.  Don’t look like that, Grace.  It’s not—­”

“She hasn’t married that man?”

“No.  Not that.  It only touches her indirectly.  But she can’t stay there.  Even Elinor—­” he checked himself.  “I’ll tell you after dinner.”

Dinner was very silent, although Anthony delivered himself of one speech rather at length.

“So far as I can make out, Howard,” he said, “this man Hendricks is getting pretty strong.  He has a young fellow talking for him who gets over pretty well.  It’s my judgment that Hendricks had better be bought off.  He goes around shouting that he’s a plain man, after the support of the plain people.  Although I’m damned if I know what he means by that.”

Anthony Cardew was no longer comfortable in his own house.  He placed the blame for it on Lily, and spent as many evenings away from home as possible.  He considered that life was using him rather badly.  Tied to the city in summer by a strike, his granddaughter openly gone over to his enemy, his own son, so long his tool and his creature, merely staying in his house to handle him, an income tax law that sent him to his lawyers with new protests almost daily!  A man was no longer master even in his own home.  His employees would not work for him, his family disobeyed him, his government held him up and shook him.  In the good old days—­

“I’m going out,” he said, as he rose from the table.  “Grace, that chef is worse than the last.  You’d better send him off.”

“I can’t get any one else.  I have tried for weeks.  There are no servants anywhere.”