emony as though the
night boss had been a railway president.

"I hope you can spare me half an hour, Mr. Peterson. There's a little
matter of business I'd like to talk over with you."

The word affected Peterson unpleasantly. That was a little farther than
he could go without a qualm. "Sure," he said uneasily, looking at his
watch.

"I don't know as I should call it business, either," Grady went on.
"When you come right down to it, it's a matter of friendship, for surely
it's no business of mine. Maybe you think it's queer--I think it's queer
myself, that I should be coming 'round tendering my friendly services to
a man who's had his hands on my throat threatening my life. That ain't
my way, but somehow I like you, Mr. Peterson, and there's an end of it.
And when I like a man, I like him, too. How's the elevator? Everything
going to please you?"

"I guess it's going all right. It ain't----" Pete hesitated, and then
gave up the broken sentence. "It's all right," he repeated.

Grady smiled. "There's the good soldier. Won't talk against his general.
But, Mr. Peterson, let me ask you a question; answer me as a man of
sense. Which makes the best general--the man who leads the charge
straight up to the intrenchments, yellin': 'Come on, boys!'--or the one
who says, very likely shaking a revolver in their faces: 'Get in there,
ye damn low-down privates, and take that fort, and report to me when
I've finished my breakfast'? Which one of those two men will the
soldiers do the most for? For the one they like best, Mr. Peterson, and
don't forget it. And which one of these are they going to like best, do
you suppose--the brave leader who scorns to ask his men to go where he
wouldn't go himself, who isn't ashamed to do honest work with honest
hands, whose fists are good enough to defend him against his enemies; or
the man who is afraid to go out among the men without a revolver in his
hip pocket? Answer me as a man of sense, Mr. Peterson."

Peterson was manifestly disturbed by the last part of the harangue. Now
he said: "Oh, I guess Bannon wasn't scared when he drawed that gun on
Reilly. He ain't that kind."

"Would _you_ draw a gun on an unarmed, defenceless man?" Grady asked
earnestly.

"No, I wouldn't. I don't like that way of doing."

"The men don't like it either, Mr. Peterson. No more than you do. They
like you. They'll do anything you ask them to. They know that you can do
anything that they can. But, Mr. Peterson,