Blanchard surveyed his own evening apparel in a mirror. "I'm headed for a reception—not the kind I'd get as the head of the Conawin corporation from a labor crowd."
"Nevertheless, I urge you to come with me. I believe that a little contact with the people in this instance will clear your thoughts."
"Another one of your riddles!" snorted the manufacturer. "What's it all about?"
"Blanchard," declared Morrison, setting his jaws grimly while he pondered for a moment and then coming out explosively, "it's about what we may expect from the people when damned fools try to play politics according to the old rules in these new times. It's about what we may expect of the people when they're denied a showdown by men at the head of public affairs. There's trouble brewing in the city of Marion to-night. What would you do if you happened to glance out of your office window and saw a leak spurting big as a lead-pencil from the base of the Conawin dam? You'd know the leak would be as big as a hogshead in a few minutes, wouldn't you?"
"Yes!" admitted the other.
"You'd get to that leak and plug it mighty quick, wouldn't you?"
"No need to ask!"
"Well, this is a hurry call and I need your help."
"I don't stand in well with the labor crowd—" demurred Blanchard.
"I know all that! You're hiring too many aliens and Red radicals in your mill! But you ought to have some influence with your own gang, such as they are! I suspect that they're the leading trouble-makers down in that hall. Blanchard, if you're not afraid of your own men, come along!" He clapped the millman on the shoulder and led the way toward the door.