en, under the stress and violence of the hour, something snapped
in his brain. The murk behind his eyes had been suddenly pierced by a
white flash. The strange qualms and tiny nervous paroxysms of the last
few months all at once culminated in some indefinite, indefinable
crisis, and the wheels and cogs of all activities save one lapsed away
and ceased. Only one function of the complicated machine persisted; but
it moved with a rapidity of vibration that seemed to be tearing the
tissues of being to shreds, while its rhythm beat out the old and
terrible cadence:

"Wheat--wheat--wheat, wheat--wheat--wheat."

Blind and insensate, Jadwin strove against the torrent of the Wheat.
There in the middle of the Pit, surrounded and assaulted by herd after
herd of wolves yelping for his destruction, he stood braced, rigid upon
his feet, his head up, his hand, the great bony hand that once had held
the whole Pit in its grip, flung high in the air, in a gesture of
defiance, while his voice like the clangour of bugles sounding to the
charge of the forlorn hope, rang out again and again, over the din of
his enemies:

"Give a dollar for July--give a dollar for July!"

With one accord they leaped upon him. The little group of his traders
was swept aside. Landry alone, Landry who had never left his side since
his rush from out Gretry's office, Landry Court, loyal to the last, his
one remaining soldier, white, shaking, the sobs strangling in his
throat, clung to him desperately. Another billow of wheat was
preparing. They two--the beaten general and his young armour
bearer--heard it coming; hissing, raging, bellowing, it swept down upon
them. Landry uttered a cry. Flesh and blood could not stand this
strain. He cowered at his chief's side, his shoulders bent, one arm
above his head, as if to ward off an actual physical force.

But Jadwin, iron to the end, stood erect. All unknowing what he did, he
had taken Landry's hand in his and the boy felt the grip on his fingers
like the contracting of a vise of steel. The other hand, as though
holding up a standard, was still in the air, and his great deep-toned
voice went out across the tumult, proclaiming to the end his battle cry:

"Give a dollar for July--give a dollar for July!"

But, little by little, Landry became aware that the tumult of the Pit
was intermitting. There were sudden lapses in the shouting, and in
these lapses he could hear from somewhere out upon the floor voices
that we