half a
million to the party, and I've got some rights in this government that
a white man is bound to respect--or does he believe in taking your
money and letting you whistle?" A train rolling by the mill drowned
Barclay's voice, but at the end of the conversation Ward heard Barclay
say: "Well, what's a party good for if it doesn't protect the men who
contribute to its support? You simply must do it. I look to you for
it. You got my good money, and it's up to you to get results."

There was some growling, and then Barclay hung up the receiver. But he
was mad all day, and dictated a panic interview to Ward, which Ward
was to give to the Associated Press when they went to Chicago the next
day. In the interview, Barclay said that economic conditions were
being disturbed by half-baked politicians, and that values would
shrink and the worst panic in the history of the country would follow
unless the socialistic meddling with business was stopped.

The summer had deepened to its maturest splendour before Barclay
acknowledged to himself his dread of the City. For he began to feel a
definite discomfiture at the panorama of his pictures on the
news-stands in connection with the advertising of the Sunday
newspapers and magazines. The newspapers were blazoning to the whole
country that the Economy Door Strip was a blind for taking railroad
rebates, and everywhere he met the report of Inspector Smith that the
National Provisions Company's fifty-pound sack of Barclay's Best
contained but forty-eight pounds and ten ounces; also that Barclay had
been taking three ounces out of the pound cartons of breakfast food,
and that the cracker packages were growing smaller, while the prices
were not lowered. Even in Sycamore Ridge the reporters appeared with
exasperating regularity, and the papers were filled with diverting
articles telling of the Barclays' social simplicity and rehashing old
stories of John Barclay's boyhood. His attempt to stop the
investigation of the National Provisions Company became noised around
Washington, and the news of his failure was frankly given out from the
White House. This inspired a cartoon from McCutcheon in the _Chicago
Tribune_, representing the President weighing a flour sack on which
was printed "Barclay's Worst," with Barclay behind the President
trying to get his foot on the scales.

All of his life Barclay had been a fighter; he liked to hit and dodge
or get hit back. His struggles in business and