the _American_. "We certainly do!" and
wrote what Mrs. Vandergilt had said and what she was wearing. It would
be a text for one of Arthur Migraine's editorial sermons, proving that
millionaires, instead of being blown into ATOMS, should be freely
permitted to give MONEY for starving men to convert into FOOD. In fact,
NATURE wisely provided that millionaires should have MONEY to give away.
The more the POOR received the LESS the millionaire would take to the
USELESS GRAVE.

Mr. MacAckus, greatly perturbed by this deviation from the norm, rushed
to the president's office to tell him Mrs. Vandergilt's opinion.
Before he could speak, Mr. Wilberforce Josslyn said:

"Did you stop 'em?"

"No, sir. Let me explain. Mrs. Vandergilt just came in and--"

"I sent word to have 'em stopped!" said Mr. Josslyn, frowning.

"Let me explain, Mr. Josslyn--"

Disobedience cannot be explained away. Discipline must be enforced. It
is better to blunder under orders than to prevent disorganization from
interfering with dividends. The obvious advantage that a corporation
president has over his subordinates is that he does not have to be
hampered by petty details.

"Stop 'em!" he said, coldly.

"Mrs. Vandergilt said--"

"And Mr. Josslyn said stop 'em!" He turned his back on MacAckus, who
thereupon rushed downstairs, frowning angrily. He'd stop 'em.

He walked out into the Avenue. It was blocked. He tried to elbow his way
through the intelligent femininity and was nearly run in by a traffic
policeman. The women refused to budge--the sandwiches were coming.

And would you believe it? As the shining top-hats drew near, the crowd
actually divided itself, Red-Sea-wise, to let H. R.'s chosen people pass
safely.

Mr. MacAckus did not faint, because he was too angry. He stepped in
front of the four obvious gentlemen and held up a hand. He could not
speak.

But the four, who had been elevated to imperial dignity by New York,
moved on so majestically that Mr. MacAckus began to retreat before them,
waving his hand frantically. He stepped backward, keeping time to their
steps, his hand moving up and down in his wrath. It looked for all the
world like a band-master indicating to his artists just how to play it.

Backward he stepped; onward they marched; until speech returned to him:

"Stop! _Stop! STOP!_"

They did not hear him.

He called to a policeman, "Stop 'em!"

H. R. had won!

The officer ran up. He was a policeman. He therefore