Helm nodded.
“There are pluckers and plucked, but there is no such thing as ‘the people.’”
“Not yet,” admitted Helm.
“You’ve been serving something that doesn’t exist.”
Helm nodded.
“The pluckers hate you because you’ve interfered with their game. The plucked hate you because they think you’ve put them in a position where they’ll not be plucked only because they haven’t anything to pluck.”
“They don’t hate me, exactly,” said George.
“You’re right. I withdraw hate. They love you. They go crazy at sight of you. They flock to hear you speak and they cheer you until you have to stop them to get through your speech. But—that doesn’t fool you?”
“Not for a minute,” replied Helm. “They think I mean well but am—dangerous.”
“You hypnotized them two years ago,” Desbrough went on, “and induced them to give you a legislature that had to put through your program. But the pluckers have organized and have put that fox Sayler in charge again—and they’ve got your humble friends of the workshop and the plow good and scared at last.”