e said.
"Take your John Smith home and patch up that cut. It's no worse than
what he gets shaving." He turned to the crowd, his saber still raised in
salute. "Potlatch is over forever!" he shouted.

Urged by a delegation of music-loving consumers, the tubist raised his
ravaged horn. The other members of the BSG Band-and-Glee-Club gathered
round him, all ragged, some with one eye closed by a purple fist-mark;
and they began, on the tubist's signal, "God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen."
The District Headquarters building, gutted, was glowing like an
abandoned fireplace. The firemen joined the singing as they coiled their
hoses. The Potlatch Riot was over.

Winfree led his wife to their car. The _Just Married_ sign was still in
place, but the car's train of shoes and milk-cans had been ripped off to
furnish ammunition in the fight. "Let's go home, Peggy," Winfree said.
"I yearn for a fireside and some privacy."

Kevin MacHenery spoke from the back seat. "You deserve them, Wes," he
said.

"What are you doing here?" Peggy demanded, twisting to face her father.
"After you cut up my Wes you should be ashamed to show us your face."

"I want to apologize for that unfortunate necessity," MacHenery said.
"But if I hadn't scratched him, Peggy-my-heart, the mob might have done
more radical surgery. I saw one consumer with a rope, trying different
knots."

"Apology accepted," Winfree said. "Now, if you don't mind, Mr.
MacHenery, Peggy and I'd like to be alone."

"Of course," MacHenery said. "First, though, I'd like to present you a
decoration to commemorate your part in this skirmish, Wes." He took the
little white feather from his hatbrim and attached it to Winfree's
tattered, blood-stained tunic.

"What's this for?" Winfree asked.

"For services rendered the Rebellion," MacHenery said. "I've often
wondered why it's only the Tom Paines and the Jeffersons who get honored
by successful rebels. There's many a revolution, Wesley, that would have
failed except for the dedicated tyranny of the men it overthrew."

"I don't understand, Daddy," Peggy protested.

"Wes will probably explain to you sometime how he brought this all on
himself," MacHenery said, opening his door to get out. "Now I expect you
two have other things to talk about. Thank you, Captain Winfree, for
playing so excellent a George the Third to our rebellion."

"Thank you, sir," Winfree said, raising his hand in salute. "I wish you
a Merry, nine-letter Christmas."