He fell silent and stared inquiringly at Stevens, who cast his eyes over the man, and solemnly extended his hands. The gold-bearded man grinned and said: "You are a real people. I will be your friend." From the group behind Isral was a pleased murmur. "Then," said Isral, "you will come with us to the North and live with us, and tell us all you can about the world you have left. There may be much that we can put to good use."
"I will," said Stevens. And he was thinking, "These men can fight!"
Dr. Alfreed had begun by discussing the Stevens affair hotly in the Medicos Club; a colleague had mildly objected to his neglect of duty. Alfreed had flared up and called the colleague a dirty name. From then onward Alfreed's progress was spectacular. There was a challenge to debate the question, and Alfreed had won hands down. His opponent had presented his case clearly and logically, then retired from the stage. Alfreed had walked on with a sneer, the subconscious necessity of defending himself boiling in his breast.
His speech was like nothing that had been heard from the debating platform for a hundred years or more, for he began by lashing out bitterly at the private life of his opponent. Patiently the audience waited for him to get around to the issue in question, finding themselves strangely stirred by the wild denunciation. One man yelled from the floor: "He's right! I'm for Alfreed!" and the cry was repeated in the hall.
At this the doctor frowned heavily on the audience. "Enough of this!" he barked. "You, my friend, have seen the menace of this wildman loose in our midst. I say to you: 'Hunt him down! Clark Stevens must be destroyed!'"
The abrupt switch in logic disturbed the crowd not at all. For a hundred years or more they had lain fallow, ready for the first demagogue who came along with a phony cause and a platform technique. In a tremendous burst of enthusiasm the doctor was cheered off the platform and carried through the streets in a spontaneous demonstration, and the cry of the first man to rise had been mutilated into "Right for Alfreed!" which rang all over the city by nightfall.
Deposited at his doorstep the doctor made a gracious speech, referring to the menace of Clark Stevens, and, passing a hand before his eyes, begged to be excused. Once in his apartment, Alfreed fell into a chair, astonished at himself. As he analyzed the matter there had been a psychological necessity to excuse his own mistake by violence misdirected, or not directed at all. But it was a good thing at any rate. Knowing in his heart of hearts that what he told himself was not true, he pledged himself to release what he already thought of as "his men" as soon as the menace of Stevens was eliminated. Then he went to bed. But all night there rang beneath his window the cry or challenge: "Right for Alfreed!"
When he woke, it was to find that his men had been working fast, ranging over the city, spreading the news to their friends—news of this wonderful Dr. Alfreed who had emerged from public obscurity to denounce the dangerous maniac who had been permitted to menace the city by the softlings in administrative control.
His door-signal flashed. "Come," he called luxuriously from his bed. "'Lo, Winters," he greeted an agitated colleague who strode into the room.