Merle turned wearily to a sheaf of papers at his hand.
"You'll see one day," he said, quietly, "and it won't be a far day. Nothing now, not even the brute force of your type, can retard the sweep of the revolution. The wave is shaping, the crest is formed. Six months from now—a year at most——"
He gestured with a hand ominously.
Wilbur briefly considered this prophecy.
"Oh, I know things look exciting here, but why wouldn't they after the turnover they've had? And I know there's grafting and profiteering and high prices and rotten spots in the Government, but why not? That's another trouble with you people: you seem to think that some form of government will be perfect. You seem to expect a perfect government from imperfect human beings."
"Ah," broke in Merle, "I recognize that! That's some of the dear old Dave Cowan talk."
"Well, don't turn it down just on that account. Sometimes he isn't so crazy. He sees through you people. He knows you would take all you could get in this world just as quick as the rest of us. He knows that much."
Merle waved it aside.
"Six months from now—a year at the most! A thrill of freedom has run through the people!"
Wilbur had relaxed in his chair. He spoke more lightly, scanning the face of his brother with veiled curiosity.