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.
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.”
