of the situation.

The crowd began to surge on, following Farr.

"I went to work digging in their trenches because I struck this town on
my uppers and needed the money--needed it quick. I was promoted to be a
boss. But I want to tell you now, gentlemen, that I do not work for the
Consolidated."

"I reckon you're right," said somebody. "I just overheard a man
telephoning to the superintendent about you--and if I'm any judge of a
conversation you are _not_ working for the Consolidated. Not any more!"

"I'm sorry you're going to leave the city," lamented the elderly man.
"We need chaps like you."

"I'm not going to leave the city."

"You might just as well," counseled one of the bystanders, "after what
you said in that hearing. If you get a job in this city after this
you'll be a good one!"

When they were outside City Hall, Farr waited for a moment on the steps.
Etienne, still trembling after that most terrible experience of his
placid life, pressed close at the young man's side.

"Will all you gentlemen please take a good look at me so that
you'll know me when you see me again?" invited the ex-boss for the
Consolidated.

They stared at him. His face was well lighted by the arc-light under the
arch of the door.

"I am not a labor-leader, nor a walking delegate, nor a politician, nor
an anarchist. You men go home and unscrew the faucets in your kitchens,
take a good sniff, and pull the slime out of the valve. Then remember
that the mayor and aldermen of this city wouldn't listen to me to-night
in the Hall that the tax-payer's money built. Also remember that a
little later they will listen to me. Gentlemen, my name is Walker Farr.
I'm going to stay here in this city. Good night."

XII

AT THE FOOT OF THE THRONE

As usual at nine-thirty in the afternoon, the big tower clock on the
First National Bank building in the city of Marion pointed the finger of
its minute-hand straight downward.

As usual, at this hour, as he had done for many years, Colonel Symonds
Dodd eased himself down from the equipage that brought him to his
office. This day the vehicle was his limousine car.

In view of the fact that Colonel Dodd owned the First National block the
big clock seemed to point its finger at him with the bland pride of a
flunky in a master. It seemed to say, "Behold! The great man is here!"

Colonel Dodd was never embarrassed when fingers were pointed at him
wherever he went. If a man is lord of finance