The Eagle Pharmacy had always been the neighborhood club, but with the advent of Willy Cameron it was attaining a new popularity.  The roundsman on the beat dropped in, the political boss of the ward, named Hendricks, Doctor Smalley, the young physician who lived across the street, and others.  Back of the store proper was a room, with the prescription desk at one side and reserve stock on shelves around the other three.  Here were a table and a half dozen old chairs, a war map, still showing with colored pins the last positions before the great allied advance, and an ancient hat-rack, which had held from time immemorial an umbrella with three broken ribs and a pair of arctics of unknown ownership.

“Going to watch this boy,” Hendricks confided to Doctor Smalley a night or two after Lily’s return, meeting him outside.  “He sure can talk.”

Doctor Smalley grinned.

“He can read my writing, too, which is more than I can do myself.  What do you mean, watch him?”

But whatever his purposes Mr. Hendricks kept them to himself.  A big, burly man, with a fund of practical good sense a keen knowledge of men, he had gained a small but loyal following.  He was a retired master plumber, with a small income from careful investments, and he had a curious, almost fanatic love for the city.

“I was born here,” he would say, boastfully.  “And I’ve seen it grow from fifty thousand to what it’s got now.  Some folks say it’s dirty, but it’s home to me, all right.”

But on the evening of Lily’s invitation the drug store forum found Willy Cameron extremely silent.  He had been going over his weaknesses, for the thought of Lily always made him humble, and one of them was that he got carried away by things and talked too much.  He did not intend to do that the next night, at the Cardew’s.

“Something’s scared him off,” said Mr. Hendricks to Doctor Smalley, after a half hour of almost taciturnity, while Willy Cameron smoked his pipe and listened.  “Watch him rise to this, though.”  And aloud: 

“Why don’t you fellows drop the League of Nations, which none of you knows a damn about anyhow, and get to the thing that’s coming in this country?”

“I’ll bite,” said Mr. Clarey, who sold life insurance in the daytime and sometimes utilized his evenings in a similar manner.  “What’s coming to this country?”

“Revolution.”

The crowd laughed.

“All right,” said Mr. Hendricks.  “Laugh while you can.  I saw the Chief of Police to-day, and he’s got a line of conversation that makes a man feel like taking his savings out of the bank and burying them in the back yard.”

Willy Cameron took his pipe out of his mouth, but remained dumb.

Mr. Hendricks nudged Doctor Smalley, who rose manfully to the occasion.  “What does he say?”

“Says the Russians have got a lot of paid agents here.  Not all Russians either.  Some of our Americans are in it.  It’s to begin with a general strike.”