"Then you ought to do something, ought to meet these charges. You ought to fight back." Barry had been waiting for three weeks in daily expectation; but Armstrong had not moved, had given no sign that he was aware of the attack.
"Yes, it is about time, I guess," said he. "Beginning to-day, I am going to clean out of the O.A.D. all that's left of the old gang."
Barry looked at him as if he thought he had gone crazy. "Why, Horace, that'll simply raise hell!" he said. "We'll be put out by force. You know what everybody'll say."
Armstrong leaned back in his chair, put his big hands behind his head and beamed on his first lieutenant. "It wouldn't surprise me if we had to call on the police for protection before the end of next week."
"The governor'll be forced to act," urged Barry. "As it is, he's catching it for keeping his hands off."
"Don't be alarmed. Morris understands the situation. We had a talk last night—met on a corner and walked round in quiet streets for two hours."
"He sent for you, did he?"
"Yes. He was weakening. But he's all right again."
"Well, I don't see the advantage in this new move, in making a bad matter worse."
"The worse it gets, the quicker it'll improve when the turn comes," Armstrong answered. "I've got to get rid of the old gang—you know that. They were brought up on graft. They look on it as legitimate. They never'll be right again, and if a single one of them stays, he'll rot our new force. So out they all go. Now, as it's got to be done, the best time is right now, and have it over with. I tell you, Jim," and Armstrong brought his fist down on the desk, "I'm going to put this company in order if I'm thrown into jail the day after I've done it! But I ain't going to jail. I'm going to stay right here, and, inside of six months, the crowd that's howling loudest for my blood will be sending me proxies and praying that I'll live forever."