ent plood gries ter heffen for revensh. A t'ousan' lifes vill
not der benalty bay. Der goundry must pe drench mit plood. Den vill
Anarchy reign subreme ofer de gabitalist vampire! Are you retty?"

The whole crowd rose in a body, banged their glasses viciously on the
tables in front of them and shouted: "Ve vas!"

"Den lose no time to rouse your frients. Vake up der laporing mans all
eferywhere. Gif dem blenty pomb und der sicnal vatch for, und ven it vas
gif shoot und kill und spare nopoddy! Der time for vorts vas gone. Now
der time vas for teets!"

"Loffski," whispered Mr. O'Royster, "really must 'scuse me, Loffski, but
's time er go. I have sorter feelin' 's if I's gettin' 'tossercated in
zhe eyes. Always know 's time er go when I have zat feelin'. F' I'd know
chure home 's in place like zis I'd asked you t' go t' mine where zere's
more r--hic--pose."

There was a door behind them near the bar, and Bludoffski, opening it,
motioned Mr. O'Royster to go in ahead. He obeyed, not without
reluctance, and the Anarchist followed. Two tables covered with papers,
a bed and several chairs were in the room, together with many little
jars, bits of gaspipe, lumps of sulphur, phosphorus and lead.

"Sit down," said Bludoffski.

Mr. O'Royster sat.

"I am an Anarchist," Bludoffski began.

"'S very nice," Mr. O'Royster replied. "I 's zhinkin' uzzer day 'bout
bein' Anarchis' m'self, but Mrs. O'Royster said she's 'fraid m' health
washn't good 'nuff f' such--hic--heavy work."

"You hear der vorts uf dot shbeaker und you see der faces uf der men.
Vat you t'ink it mean? Hey? It mean var upon der reech. It mean Nye
Yorick in ashes--"

"Wha's use? Don't seem t' me s' t' would pay. Of course, ol' f'law,
whatever you says, goes. But 't seems t' me--"

"You can safe all dot var. You can der means be uf pringing aboud der
reign uf anarchy mitout der shtrike uf von blow. Eferypody vill lif und
pe habby."

"Boffski," said Mr. O'Royster, after a pause, during which he seemed to
be making a violent effort to gather his intellectual forces. "Zere's no
doubt I'm 'tossercated in zhe eyes. W'en a man's eyes 'fected by
champagne, he's liter'ly no good. Talk to me 'bout zis t'mor', Woffski.
Subjec's too 'mportant to be d'scussed unner present conditions."

"Nein! nein! You can safe der vorlt uf you vill. Von vort from you vill
mean peace. Midoutdt dot vort oceans of plood vill be spill."

"Woffski, you ev'dently zhink I zhrunker'n I am. I'm