“I will follow you in a few minutes.”
“You will come now,” said Percival levelly. “You and I, Mr. Landover, are jointly concerned in the establishment of a very definite order of discipline. We represent the two extremes.” He stood aside. “Precede me, if you please.”
After a moment's hesitation, the other lifted his chin and walked past the young man. The corridors were clear. Percival followed close behind. He kept up a glib, one-sided conversation.
“You see, there was no other way to handle you. I was obliged to resort to punitive measures. That's always the case when you are dealing with sensible, intelligent, educated men. It is impossible to reason with an intelligent, educated man. He invariably has opinions, ideas, viewpoints of his own. He is mentally equipped to resist any kind of an argument. Take our United States Senators, our Congressmen, even our Presidents. You can't reason with them. No doubt you've tried it a thousand times, you and the other capitalists. We've all tried it. You've got to hit 'em on the head with some sort of a club or big stick if you want to bring 'em to time. You have to club them to death at the polls, so to speak. Now, you take these wops. They can't argue. They haven't got that sort of intelligence. They're considerably like the common or garden variety of dog. No matter how much you beat them and scold them, you can always get along with them if you feed them and let them see that you're not afraid of them. If they once get an idea that you are afraid of them,—well, it's all off. They begin to be sensible right away, and then they form a labour union. And the more sensible and intelligent they become, the easier it is for the labour leaders, the walking delegates, and blood-sucking agitators to make fools of 'em. It's all a matter of leadership, Mr. Landover, as you will admit, any way you look at it. Well, here we are.”
Landover paused before starting down the ladder to the boat. He turned to address Percival in a loud, clear voice.
“You will not long be in a position to browbeat and bully the rest of us, young man. Your reign will be short. I would like my fellow-passengers to know that I have never refused to work with them. I have merely declined to work under an outlaw. Life is as dear to me as it is to any one else on this ship. I am taking this step against my will, rather than subject myself to further indignities and the cruelties you would inflict if I held out against you. I am sorry to deprive you of the spectacular hit you might have made by throwing me into the sea, a treat which you doubtless led all of these people to expect.”
He climbed down the ladder and dropped into the boat. As he took his seat, he ran his eye along the line of faces above. Finding the persons he sought, he smiled, shook his head slowly to signify a state of resignation, and then set his flushed, angry face toward the land.
Percival, following him, did not look up at the row of faces.
Careni-Amori sang that evening in the main saloon. Signer Joseppi, tired and sore after his hard day's work, wept, and after weeping as publicly as possible created a profound sensation by kissing the great prima-donna in full view of the applauding spectators. Then, to cap the climax, he proclaimed in a voice charged with emotion that Madame Careni-Amori never had sung better in all her life! This to an artist who had the rare faculty for knowing when she was off the key,—and who knew that she was very badly off on this particular occasion.
Percival was standing near the door as Ruth Clinton and her aunt left the saloon on the way to their rooms. He joined them after a moment's hesitation. The two ladies bowed coldly to him. He was the essence of decision. As usual, he went straight to the point.