"How about the accusation of graft?" continued the Secretary.
Jim whitened a little. He looked over the Secretary's head out at the patch of blue sky and then back at the room full of hostile faces.
"If any man in the Service," he said slowly, "can be shown to be dishonest, no punishment can be too severe for him." Jim paused and then went on, half under his breath as if he had forgotten his audience. "The strength of the pack is the wolf. It's disloyalty in the pack that's helping the old American spirit down hill."
The Secretary's eyes deepened but he repeated, quietly, "And as to your graft, Mr. Manning?"
Jim hesitated and whitened again under his bronze. If ever a man looked guilty, Jim did.
There was at this point a sudden scraping of a chair, the clatter of an overturned cuspidor and a stout, elderly man at the rear of the room jumped to his feet.
"Mr. Secretary," he cried, "may I say a word?"
"Who are you?" asked the Secretary.
"I'm a New York lawyer, but I know the Projects like the back of me hand. And I know Jim Manning as I know me own soul. You've let everyone have free speech here. Manning didn't know till this minute that I was in town. My name is Michael Dennis, your honor."