l of this corporation, just the way all the other unions
did. I know. I was through it all." He sat back smugly, his cheeks
quivering with emotion. "You might say that I was a national leader in
the movement. But I did it only for the men. The men want their
dividends. They own the stock, stock is supposed to pay dividends."

"But they're cutting their own throats," Walter wailed. "You can't build
a company and make it grow the way I've been forced to run it."

"Details!" Torkleson snorted. "I don't care _how_ the dividends come in.
That's your job. My job is to report a dividend every six months to the
men who own the stock, the men working on the production lines."

Walter nodded bitterly. "And every year the dividend has to be higher
than the last, or you and your fat friends are likely to be thrown out
of your jobs--right? No more steaks every night. No more private
gold-plated Buicks for you boys. No more twenty-room mansions in
Westchester. No more big game hunting in the Rockies. No, you don't have
to know anything but how to whip a board meeting into a frenzy so
they'll vote you into office again each year."

Torkleson's eyes glittered. His voice was very soft. "I've always liked
you, Walter. So I'm going to pretend I didn't hear you." He paused, then
continued. "But here on my desk is a small bit of white paper. Unless
you have my signature on that paper on the first of next month, you are
out of a job, on grounds of incompetence. And I will personally see that
you go on every White list in the country."

Walter felt the fight go out of him like a dying wind. He knew what the
White list meant. No job, anywhere, ever, in management. No chance,
ever, to join a union. No more house, no more weekly pay envelope. He
spread his hands weakly. "What do you want?" he asked.

"I want a production plan on my desk within twenty-four hours. A plan
that will guarantee me a five per cent increase in dividends in the next
six months. And you'd better move fast, because I'm not fooling."

* * * * *

Back in his cubbyhole downstairs, Walter stared hopelessly at the
reports. He had known it would come to this sooner or later. They all
knew it--Hendricks of Promotion, Pendleton of Sales, the whole
managerial staff.

It was wrong, all the way down the line. Walter had fought it tooth and
nail since the day Torkleson had installed the moose heads in Walter's
old office, and moved him down to t