"Shooting, eh? I thought it was a sort of peaceful revolution. The managerial class were booted out, and that was that."
"I don't know nothing," Jake snapped. "How come you keep trying to get me to say stuff I ain't supposed to talk about? You want to get me in trouble?"
"Oh, you're already in trouble, Jake. But if you stick with me, I'll try to get you out of it. Where exactly did the refugees head for? How did they leave? Must have been a lot of them; I'd say in a city of this size alone, they'd run into the thousands."
"I don't know."
"Of course, it depends on your definition of a big shot. Who's included in that category, Jake?"
"You know, the slick-talking ones; the fancy dressers; the guys that walk around and tell other guys what to do. We do all the work and they get all the big pay."
"I suppose that would cover scientists, professional men, executives, technicians of all sorts, engineers, teachers—all that crowd."
"Yeah, them are the ones."
"And once you got them out of the way, the regular fellows would have a chance. Chaps that don't spend all their time taking baths and reading books and using big words; good Joes that don't mind picking their noses in public."