ch-men how to turn the other cheek. Also a post-Scriptural
assertion that each man went to church to pray and not to ask for
unearned bread or jump on Standard Oil.

Max himself made them memorize the speech. They were letter perfect
before he stopped.

"This will kill 'em dead," he said, enthusiastically. "Why, Mr. Rutgers,
even the newspapers will think they are Christians and--"

"Make them early Christians," wisely advised H. R. "Thats what the world
needs to-day!"

"You are right, as usual. Hey, you fellows, add, _If we must die, we die
forgiving our fellow-men in the knowledge that after death we shall come
into our own._"

"Hey, I ain't going to be killed just to--" began Mulligan, edging
toward the door.

"In the newspapers, ass! In the front page, imbecile!" shrieked Max.

Mulligan shook his head doggedly.

"Mulligan!" said H. R., and clenched his right fist.

"Ye-es, boss."

"I'll be there to see that you get the forty beers and I'll guarantee
that you'll have a chance to assuage your thirst _after_ business
hours."

"All right, boss," said Mulligan. "And I'll guarantee the thirst."

"Say, can you beat it?" admiringly asked Max of Andrew Barrett. "Where
does he get it?" And he tapped his own cranium sadly.

"And, Mulligan, if you should be locked up," added H. R., "the first
thing you do when you get to jail is to declare a hunger strike. This
will stamp you as Crusaders! And Crusaders never frighten Business."

"Great heavens!" whispered Max.

"Do we get the--" began Mulligan, anxiously.

"Nothing need be said about drinking. You'll get your forty."

"They can do their damnedest," said Mulligan, looking like a
hero-martyr.

"Refer all reporters to your counsel," finally advised Max. "Forget
everything else, but not that, not that!"

IX

The four great actors, distinguished-looking, positively Beau
Brummelesque, in shining top-hats of the latest fashion, went out of the
Allied Arts Building to make history. They walked ahead abreast, their
eyes fixed straight ahead. Pedestrians instinctively parted to let them
by. Then they asked questions.

Andrew Barrett's agents answered the questions.

"They are the advance-guard. You ought to see what's coming!"

The faint sense of waiting for something worth waiting for, that so far
only the annual police parade has been able to arouse in New York was
discernible on the faces of the spectators. They began to cluster on the
edges of