“Nonsense!  Oxygen is life itself.  There’s no substitute.  Vitiate the air by removing even 10 per cent. of it, and the world will lick our boots for a chance to breathe!  Everybody’s got to have oxygen, all the way from kings and emperors down to the toiling cattle, the Henry Dubbs, as I believe they’re commonly called in vulgar speech.  Shut off the air, and ‘the captains and the kings’ will run to heel like the rabble itself.  Run to heel, and pay for the privilege of doing it!  We’ve got the universities, press, churches, laws, judges, army and navy and everything already in our hands.  We’ll be secure enough, no fear!”

“Shhhhh!” And Waldron nudged the Billionaire with his elbow.

In his excitement, Flint had permitted his voice to rise, a little.  Not far from him, leaning on the rail, a stockily built young fellow in overalls, a cap pulled down firmly over his well-shaped head, was apparently watching the gulls and the passing boats, with eyes no less blue than the bay itself; eyes no less glinting than the sunlight on the waves.  He seemed to be paying no heed to anything but what lay before him.  But “Tiger” Waldron, possessed of something of the instinct of the beast whose name he bore, subconsciously sensed a peril in his nearness.  The man’s ear—­if unusually quick—­might, just might possibly have caught a word or two meant for no interloper.  And at that thought, Waldron once more nudged his partner.

“Shhh!” he repeated, “Enough.  We can finish this, in the limousine.”

Flint looked at him a moment, in silence, then nodded.

“Right you are,” said he.  And both men climbed back into the closed car.

“You never can tell what ears are primed for news,” said Waldron.  “Better take no chances.”

“Before long, we can throw away all subterfuge,” the Billionaire replied as he shut the door.  “But for now, well, you’re correct.  Once our grasp tightens on the windpipe of the world, we’re safe.  From our office in Wall Street you and I can play the keys of the world-machine as an organist would finger his instrument.  But there must be no leak; no publicity; no suspicion aroused.  We’ll play our music pianissimo, Wally, with rare accompaniments to the tune of ’great public utility, benefit to the public health,’ and all that—­the same old game, only on a vastly larger scale.

“Every modern composer in the field of Big Business knows that score and has played it many times. We will play it on a monstrous pipe organ, with the world’s lungs for bellows and the world’s breath to vibrate our reeds—­and all paying tribute, night and day, year after year, all over the world, Wally, all over the world!

“God!  What power shall be ours!  What infinite power, such as, since time began, never yet lay in mortal hands!  We shall be as gods, Waldron, you and I—­and between us, we shall bring the human race wallowing to our feet in helpless bondage, in supreme abandon!”