Such being the usual tenor of his thoughts, concerning Flint, small wonder that he took the old man’s chiding with an ill grace, and warned him pointedly not to continue it.  Now, facing the Billionaire, he fairly stared him out of countenance.  An awkward silence followed.  Both heard, with relief, a rapping at the office door.

“Come!” snapped Flint.

A clerk appeared, with a yellow envelope in hand.

“Another wireless, sir,” said he.

Flint snatched it from him.

“Send Herzog and Slade, at once,” he commanded, as he ripped the envelope.

“Well, more trouble?” insolently drawled “Tiger” happy in the paling of the old man’s face and the sudden look of apprehension there.

For all answer, Flint handed him the message.  Waldron read: 

Southern and Gulf States all seemingly cut off from every kind of communication this P.M.  Can get no news.  Is this according to your orders?  If not, can you inform me probable cause?  I ask instructions.  “K.”

Silence, a minute, then Waldron whistled, and began pulling at his thick lower lip, a sure sign of perturbation.

“By the Almighty, Flint” said he.  “I—­maybe I was wrong just now, to be so confoundedly touchy about—­about what you said.  This—­certainly looks odd, doesn’t it?  It can’t be a series of coincidences!  There must be something back of it, all.  But—­but what?  Rebellion is out of the question, now, and has been for a long time.  Revolution?  The way we’re organized, the very idea’s an absurdity!  But, if not these, what?”

Flint stared at him with drug-contracted eyes.

“Yes, that’s the question,” he rapped out.  “What can it mean?  Ah, perhaps Slade can tell us,” he added, as the secret-service man quietly entered through a private door at the rear of the office.

“Tell you what, gentlemen?” asked Slade, smirking and rubbing his hands.

“The meaning of that, and that, and that!” snapped old Flint, thrusting the telegrams at the newcomer.

“Hm!” grunted the secret-service man, as he glanced them over.  “That’s damned odd!  But it’s of no real moment.  If—­if there’s really any trouble, any outbreak or what not, of course it can’t amount to anything.  All you have to do is order the President to call out the troops, and—­”

“Yes, I can order him, all right,” snarled Flint, “but in case all our wires are down and all our wireless plants put out of commission, to say nothing of our transport service interrupted, what then?  There’s no doubt in my mind, Slade, that another upheaval is upon us.  The fact that we stamped out the 1918 and 1922 uprisings, and that rivers ran red and city streets were flushed with blood, apparently hasn’t made any impression on the cattle!  Damn it all, I say, can’t you keep things quiet? Can’t you?”

In a very frenzy he paced the office, his face twitching, his bony fingers snapping with the extremity of his agitation.  Suddenly he faced Slade.