“Ask him to wait another five minutes,” Tarsis said, and Beppe made off with a submissive “Very good, signore,” but his head shaking dubiously.
One by one his master gathered the sheets on the table into an orderly pile, folded the lot deliberately, and slipped them into his pocket; he looked under the table and the chair to be certain that no trace of his work remained. Then he lit a cigarette, rang for Beppe, and told him to show in Signor Ulrich.
The superintendent-general of the Tarsis Silk Company bustled into the library, his lips puffing, eyes big with excitement. Tarsis greeted him standing, waved his hand to a chair, and asked what had happened.
“Happened!” exclaimed Signor Ulrich. “Per Dio, I could tell you sooner what has not happened.”
“Let us have what has happened first,” was the other’s quiet command. “Be good enough to give me the facts briefly.”
“Briefly, then,” cried the Austrian, too much agitated to sit down, “hell is at large!”
“A strike?”
“No; a revolution!”
Tarsis had schooled himself not to take the man too seriously; he valued the ardour that he gave to his tasks, but took care to divide the chaff from the wheat of his enthusiasm.
“What are the particulars?” he inquired.