Fleming had been told to detail himself, Mulligan, and the four most typical sandwiches in the society to act as the advance-guard. He and the five were at the office early Monday morning, so were the four histrionic artists, so was Max Onthemaker with nineteen injunctions, writs, and legal documents neatly typewritten, three process-servers, and thirty copies of a statement for the newspapers.
Each sandwich-man received his board and a copy of his own speech. It was a plea for equal rights and the cessation of hostilities against a poor man simply because he had no money, a prayer for the enforcement of the Constitution, and three quotations from that obsolete Book that taught sandwich-men how to turn the other cheek. Also a post-Scriptural assertion that each man went to church to pray and not to ask for unearned bread or jump on Standard Oil.
Max himself made them memorize the speech. They were letter perfect before he stopped.
"This will kill 'em dead," he said, enthusiastically. "Why, Mr. Rutgers, even the newspapers will think they are Christians and—"
"Make them early Christians," wisely advised H. R. "Thats what the world needs to-day!"
"You are right, as usual. Hey, you fellows, add, If we must die, we die forgiving our fellow-men in the knowledge that after death we shall come into our own."
"Hey, I ain't going to be killed just to—" began Mulligan, edging toward the door.
"In the newspapers, ass! In the front page, imbecile!" shrieked Max.
Mulligan shook his head doggedly.
"Mulligan!" said H. R., and clenched his right fist.