ted. It was easy
to understand how she, with her ancient, wrinkled face and deep-black
eyes, could be confused with a source of prophecy and wisdom in these
times of death and terror.

"I want to lead this people, Granny," he said, after she had bade him
sit down. "Tell me what to do."

She snorted and eyed him sharply. "What makes you think you can lead
this people?" she demanded.

"Because I see they have been led into disaster by selfish, ignorant
fools," said Frank Meggs; "men who believe that in the laboratories on
the hill there can be found a way to dispel the power of the great
comet. Because they believe this, they have persecuted the people. They
have taken their food and have given it to the scientists. They have
protected them, and them alone, from the disease that sickens us.

"You do not believe these men can overcome the power of the comet, do
you, Granny?"

Wild flame leaped in the old woman's eyes. "Nothing can overwhelm the
power of this heavenly messenger! Death shall come to all who attempt
such blasphemy!"

"Then you will give your blessing to my struggle to release the people
from this bondage?"

"Yes!" Granny Wicks spoke with quivering intensity. "You are the man I
have been waiting for. I can see it now! You are appointed by the stars
themselves!

"I prophesy that you shall succeed and drive out those who dare trifle
with the heavens. Go with my blessings, Frank Meggs, and do your great
work!"

Elation filled him as he left the house. It was certain that Granny
Wicks would pass the word of his "appointment" to all who came to her
audience chamber. The way things were going, it looked as if that would
be nine-tenths of the people in Mayfield.

The occupation of the Mayor's chair by Sheriff Johnson gave Frank Meggs
a further opening that he wanted. The crowds grew at his torchlight
harangues. Even though one-third of the population lay ill with the flu,
the night meetings went on.

"Sheriff Johnson has no right to the office he holds," he screamed. His
appreciative audience huddled in their miserable coldness and howled
their agreement.

"This is not the way things should be done. Our charter calls for an
election but when will there be an election? My friends, our good
Sheriff is not the real villain in this matter. He is but the tool and
the dupe of a clever and crafty group who, through him, are the real
holders of power and privilege in this town.

"While we have starved, the