asked.

'You can try,' said the Mayor.

De Forest raised his voice in the face of the reviving Crowd that had
edged in towards us. Day was come.

'Don't you think this business can be arranged?' he began. But there was
a roar of angry voices:

'We've finished with Crowds! We aren't going back to the Old Days! Take
us over! Take the Serviles away! Administer direct or we'll kill 'em!
Down with The People!'

An attempt was made to begin MacDonough's Song. It got no further than
the first line, for the _Victor Pirolo_ sent down a warning drone on one
stopped horn. A wrecked side-wall of the Old Market tottered and fell
inwards on the slag-pools. None spoke or moved till the last of the dust
had settled down again, turning the steel case of Salad's Statue
ashy grey.

'You see you'll just _have_ to take us over,' the Mayor whispered.

De Forest shrugged his shoulders.

'You talk as if executive capacity could be snatched out of the air like
so much horse-power. Can't you manage yourselves on any terms?' he said.

'We can, if you say so. It will only cost those few lives to begin
with,'

The Mayor pointed across the square, where Arnott's men guided a
stumbling group of ten or twelve men and women to the lake front and
halted them under the Statue.

'Now I think,' said Takahira under his breath, 'there will be trouble.'

The mass in front of us growled like beasts.

At that moment the sun rose clear, and revealed the blinking assembly to
itself. As soon as it realized that it was a crowd we saw the shiver of
horror and mutual repulsion shoot across it precisely as the steely
flaws shot across the lake outside. Nothing was said, and, being half
blind, of course it moved slowly. Yet in less than fifteen minutes most
of that vast multitude--three thousand at the lowest count--melted away
like frost on south eaves. The remnant stretched themselves on the
grass, where a crowd feels and looks less like a crowd.

'These mean business,' the Mayor whispered to Takahira. 'There are a
goodish few women there who've borne children. I don't like it.'

The morning draught off the lake stirred the trees round us with promise
of a hot day; the sun reflected itself dazzlingly on the canister-shaped
covering of Salati's Statue; cocks crew in the gardens, and we could
hear gate-latches clicking in the distance as people stumblingly
resought their homes.

'I'm afraid there won't be any morning deliveries,' said De Forest. 'We