“How about the prospects for revolution in Germany?” reverently asked Kennicott.

The authority grunted, “Nothing to it.  The one thing you can bet on is that no matter what happens to the German people, win or lose, they’ll stick by the Kaiser till hell freezes over.  I got that absolutely straight, from a fellow who’s on the inside of the inside in Washington.  No, sir!  I don’t pretend to know much about international affairs but one thing you can put down as settled is that Germany will be a Hohenzollern empire for the next forty years.  At that, I don’t know as it’s so bad.  The Kaiser and the Junkers keep a firm hand on a lot of these red agitators who’d be worse than a king if they could get control.”

“I’m terribly interested in this uprising that overthrew the Czar in Russia,” suggested Carol.  She had finally been conquered by the man’s wizard knowledge of affairs.

Kennicott apologized for her:  “Carrie’s nuts about this Russian revolution.  Is there much to it, Perce?”

“There is not!” Bresnahan said flatly.  “I can speak by the book there.  Carol, honey, I’m surprised to find you talking like a New York Russian Jew, or one of these long-hairs!  I can tell you, only you don’t need to let every one in on it, this is confidential, I got it from a man who’s close to the State Department, but as a matter of fact the Czar will be back in power before the end of the year.  You read a lot about his retiring and about his being killed, but I know he’s got a big army back of him, and he’ll show these damn agitators, lazy beggars hunting for a soft berth bossing the poor goats that fall for ’em, he’ll show ’em where they get off!”

Carol was sorry to hear that the Czar was coming back, but she said nothing.  The others had looked vacant at the mention of a country so far away as Russia.  Now they edged in and asked Bresnahan what he thought about the Packard car, investments in Texas oil-wells, the comparative merits of young men born in Minnesota and in Massachusetts, the question of prohibition, the future cost of motor tires, and wasn’t it true that American aviators put it all over these Frenchmen?

They were glad to find that he agreed with them on every point.

As she heard Bresnahan announce, “We’re perfectly willing to talk to any committee the men may choose, but we’re not going to stand for some outside agitator butting in and telling us how we’re going to run our plant!” Carol remembered that Jackson Elder (now meekly receiving New Ideas) had said the same thing in the same words.

While Sam Clark was digging up from his memory a long and immensely detailed story of the crushing things he had said to a Pullman porter, named George, Bresnahan hugged his knees and rocked and watched Carol.  She wondered if he did not understand the laboriousness of the smile with which she listened to Kennicott’s account of the “good one he had on Carrie,” that marital, coyly improper, ten-times-told tale of how she had forgotten to attend to Hugh because she was “all het up pounding the box”—­which may be translated as “eagerly playing the piano.”  She was certain that Bresnahan saw through her when she pretended not to hear Kennicott’s invitation to join a game of cribbage.  She feared the comments he might make; she was irritated by her fear.